


1163 Burns Sleep: Dogs of War

by wifebeast__s



Series: 1163 Burns Sleep: Dragon Age/Malazan AU [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, The Malazan Book of the Fallen - Steven Erikson
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Age Malazan AU, F/M, Gen, More Malazan typical violence than Dragon Age, Plague, Retelling, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, this wasn't supposed to be this long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 127,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21678085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wifebeast__s/pseuds/wifebeast__s
Summary: This is the story of Elissa Cousland, Shield Anvil of Fener, and her journey from sole survivor of the slaughter of her kin to defeating the Blight and becoming the Hero of Ferelden.This is the Dragon Age/Malazan Book of the Fallen AU that probably no one wanted but that I have had in my head for YEARS. In honor of Dragon 4ge Day and my finally getting my Malazan tattoo (on the same day!), here it is - a retelling of Dragon Age: Origins using the world building of Steven Erickson's Malazan series.Update 11/1: Please note new tags. Work now includes sexual content -- see chapter notes for more info, if you'd prefer to skip.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: 1163 Burns Sleep: Dragon Age/Malazan AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562749
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Prologue: Castle Cousland

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! If you are here for Dragon Age and have not read the Malazan Book of the Fallen, I highly recommend it. If you are here for Malazan and have not played Dragon Age, I ALSO highly recommend it - and will warn you now that none of our beloved characters from the series will appear here (at least not in any meaningful way). If you are here because you like BOTH, please be my friend - I'm on Tumblr! Username is wifebeast__s. 
> 
> Resources will be at the end of chapters and compiled into a sort of resources chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

Word of the war had reached Highever, but clearly the word Blight hadn’t been on anyone’s lips. That was the only reason Duncan could think of for the surprise on Bryce Cousland’s face when he appeared, speaking of the ancient practice of conscription. Arl Howe seemed entirely unconcerned, but Duncan didn’t have the same history with the dour-faced noble. He was used to the disbelief of those unfamiliar with the Reve. As the Mortal Sword of Fener, however, it fell to him to see the tusked god’s will be done.

“Are you sure this is a Blight?”

Duncan nodded, but offered nothing further; while many still regarded the Order with esteem for their battle prowess, their ties with the warrens were often ignored. The stirring of those warrens, more than the larger number of Darkspawn, were what clued them in, but few knew the relevance of the titles - Mortal Sword, defender, and Destriant, the voice of the god. No one save the members knew just how closely tied to Fener they were.

“King Cailan believes us, and he has joined us in the South to fight the Darkspawn,” Duncan continued calmly.

The Arl frowned, as if tasting something sour, “Lord Cousland is already sending troops. His eldest son, even. What more could you be looking for?”

Duncan raised an eyebrow slightly but said nothing in response, sure that it should be obvious. War would come to these lands regardless; that decision had been made, not by him, nor even Fener, but by the people of the lands who saw Fener ascend once upon a time. The land may be drowned in blood, but the Order, and Duncan specifically, needed to ensure that it extended no further.

Perhaps realizing he made no mention of himself, the Arl continued, “My own forces will join in the morning. We were caught unawares. My fault, I’m afraid. Had I not sent them out to shore up the river banks so close to the flood season-”

Before further excuses could be made, the doors behind the Arl swung open with a sudden force, nearly hitting the wall behind it, laughter spilling out, accompanied with the happy barking of a Ferelden Mabari, the largest Duncan had ever seen. The laughter was produced by a young woman, armored lightly with two fine blades strapped to her back. She was muscular, though in the lean and graceful way of a dagger fighter, an assassin. She had her father’s looks, dark skin and hair, hair that was exceptionally short, almost shaved. If not for the striking resemblance, he would not have guessed she was the daughter of the Teyrn, dressed as she was in dark, supple leather armor. The air of the room seemed to move toward her, as she entered.

Howe’s already pinched face somehow tightened further, while Bryce’s face cracked into a smile, “Ah, hello there Pup. What timing. I’d like you to meet Duncan; he’s a Grey Warden. And an old friend. Elissa,” he finished, gesturing at the girl.

The woman strode forward; she held herself with confidence, a loose and comfortable stance, and it was clear immediately that she could reach for those daggers before he could shout Darkspawn. He felt a sudden shift, like Fener himself was pressing closer for just a moment. An even briefer moment, and he thought for sure he could hear the low, excited exhale of his god when on the hunt.

“Respected mercenary band and Darkspawn slayers, devoted to Fener; they stopped the Blights,” she said simply, stopping just outside the small triangle the men had created in their conversation.

“Not permanently, I’m afraid,” Duncan admitted.

Bryce waved a hand in dismissal, “Without the wardens’ warnings, we may be overrun by Darkspawn by now.”

The other Cousland shifted her weight, “What are you doing here, then, Ser Duncan? Are there Darkspawn this far North?”

“He’s here looking for recruits,” Bryce continued, “probably has his eyes on Ser Gilmore.”

The words escaped Duncan before he could stop them, “Elissa here would also make an excellent candidate."

Six eyebrows rose toward the ceiling, and for a fleeting moment, Duncan wished he could know the minds of the three standing with him, but mind reading was not one of the gifts bestowed upon him. The Destriant perhaps, though Clarel was fond of saying that she hadn’t the head for Mockra, being too firmly attached to the ground.

“Honor though that may be,” Bryce started in, moving closer to the young woman who had joined them, “this is my daughter we’re talking about. I’ll not see her off to war.”

The Arl smiled, a look that Duncan felt was worse than the sour frown, “Were you not just extolling the fine virtues and heroism of the order?”

“I’ve only a few children,” the lord offered. It was spoken softly but still a snap, a sharp reminder, as much as it was a plea. His eldest, Fergus, was already preparing the troops to march South. It was a valid concern.

But his daughter was still looking at him, as if studying the details of his armor. Her gaze crawled over him in a way - not unpleasant, but it was obvious, and he felt it, just as he felt Fener, waking and stirring. The Boar of Summer stamped his feet, the tremors shaking the warren so close now to Duncan’s mind. He wished suddenly that Clarel were here, instead of in Weisshaupt. Their advance company had been dispatched to confirm the rumors, and word had only now been sent back; when the mage and voice of Fener arrived, he would see to it that his suspicions were confirmed.

She smiled then, just as the shuddering of Fener stopped, then turned to Bryce, “Father, I’ll see to things here. You be careful. Arl Howe, I wish you well.”

For a moment, the Arl seemed confused, his frown becoming more sorrowful than sour, “Oh, well, that’s not...necessary. Thank you.”

* * *

The frown on the Arl’s face, the flavor of it, made sense hours later, when Duncan woke to screams and the distinct crackling of fire. He rolled from his bed, armor donned and armed in minimal time, the muscle memory of his years in the order making his movements automatic.

“Fener guide me,” he muttered, shaking out his limbs before kicking open the door of his rooms and rushing into the hallway.

It was clear enough what was happening, as he made his way through the corridors. The castle was under attack, the greatly reduced number of Cousland’s guards trying to hold back the entire force of Howe’s personal army. The ones running late, for having to shore up the river. Indeed.

Fener would be displeased. This was not war. This was betrayal. The Reve was very clear on the rules of engagement. Should anything happen to him, the Arl would be facing the Law of Judgement, though that offered no comfort. Nor would it for the people now under attack.

The sounds of battle grew louder, as he turned toward the main hall. Soldiers were moving through, kicking open doors, pulling out the servants who remained - and anyone else - out of bed. A woman screamed a few doors down, her cries cut short with a gurgle, and her murderer stumbled out into the walkway, head turning toward Duncan, as he tucked another bit of himself away.

Duncan lifted the edge of his shield into the soldiers’ throat, pulling it away to the rough gurgling sound of the man’s crushed windpipe. Sword slid across ribs, down, until the blade sank easier and deeper into the soft, unprotected belly, and he tugged it out to turn and engage the next man foolish enough to come at him.

He did not look inside the room the soldier had come from.

As an honored guest, he had not been kept far from the hall, but he had a maze to get through to return. He had admired its defensibility on his way in, and it seemed that that alone might save a paltry few of the Couslands’ staff. For a moment, he wondered where the Teyrn’s daughter might be, the one who looked capable of keeping herself alive through something like this.

He had been to this keep only once before, long ago, but the sounds of battle led him forward - there was no time for him to go searching for the family. The remaining guard was a meager force, buckling under the sheer numbers already. Duncan did what he could - his sword was slicked red, his shield dented by arrows - but he knew it would be too little, too late. The House of Cousland may never recover.

The whistle of an arrow passed by his ear, and he roared, closing with the next band of soldiers.

* * *

Elissa woke to her Mabari tugging at her arm, harder and harsher than the hound would ever use to simply request attention or food. She sat up, saw his obvious distress, and listened intently, suddenly focused. There. A faint scraping. She was no mage, but part of her training had included understanding the warren of shadow, so it was no feat to reach out, to feel them and close them in tight about her.

“Dairren,” she whispered, hand on the bare shoulder next to her.

The young man’s eyes fluttered open, and she watched his expression go from confusion, to a soft sort of happiness, to concern, “What is it?”

“Rood is restless, barking.”

“He had started earlier, wouldn’t stop. I tried to calm him,” he murmured, turning as if to go back to sleep.

“There’s something else. You should get up, get dressed. I think something is wrong.”

She kept her voice low, hoping he would follow suit.

She slipped out of her bed, careful to control the sounds she made, as she dressed in her light armor and gripped her blades.

She was barely dressed when the door opened. A soldier bearing the Arl’s tabard entered. Dairren had gotten out of bed, as she recommended, but he had not yet even dressed. He shouted, demanding an explanation. His words died in his throat, as the soldier cut him own, then approached the bed where a vague heap was still visible. Elissa bit back her cry of alarm, of anger.

The soldier held out his shield, raised his sword to strike. Drawing the shadows more tightly about her, she crept up behind, lashing out once, twice, and catching the soldier’s body to lower him gently to the bed.

There was no more time. She paused at Dairren’s body, wishing there was something she could do, but the sounds of fighting had not stopped, and he was gone to Hood’s realm.

Elissa pulled Meanas in close, calling loud enough for her companion to follow. The Mabari was larger, even, than most, shoulder nearly to her hip. Given his size and dark color, she had named him Rood in honor of the fabled Hounds of Shadow.

As she neared her nephew’s room, she heard the cry from within. It was something that spoke of anguish, of deep rage, and she knew the voice to be her mother’s, though it made a sound she had never thought to hear. It shredded her resolve for a moment.

It was enough. Her minor control slipped, and a soldier down the hall saw her. Seeing only a young woman, he didn’t bother to call for backup, approaching with a bellowed shout, likely meant to startle or frighten her.

With a responding snarl, she lunged forward, one blade up high to block the downswing of his sword, the other low to sink into his belly. Her block caught the man’s upper arm; she twisted the blade down, tugged, to bring him closer, and her lower blade slid between the chains of her armor. She felt the warmth of blood and bile spill onto her gloved hand, and she twisted the blade, “Was it you?”

But the light was leaving the man’s eyes before he could answer.

“Elissa?”

Her mother’s voice sounded behind her, startled and relieved. Like herself, her mother had donned her leathers and armed herself with the heavy, compact bow that had been a large part of Elissa’s own childhood.

“Mother. Where-“ she started toward the room, her mother blocking her path immediately.

“They are dead. Elissa, come with me.”

Eleanor Cousland was much more powerful than her daughter when it came to the use of the warrens. With barely any indication of concentration, mother and daughter both were enveloped in shadow, the sounds of their footfalls muffled by the tight control of Meanas.

“What is happening?”

“Arl Howe’s men seem to have arrived, despite their supposed delay. We have been betrayed. We must find your father.”

Their movement was slow, each corner tested and taken carefully, each alcove a bloody remnant of a familiar face. The path through to the main hall was a nightmare, stretched out into eternity, as they avoided the heavy patrols of armed and armored soldiers, neither well equipped to take on an entire company. Even with Rood at their heels, it was ill-advised to go on the offensive. And so they remained all but powerless, sneaking by, as the guards that remained paid with their lives.

Their journey was punctuated with brief encounters. In the narrower side passages they carved a bloody path. Eleanor, a born archer, stayed back, as Elissa got in close. Her mother’s warren kept her quiet and hidden until the last moment. A knife across the throat, a swipe to the back of the heels, followed by an arrow in the eye. They paid for every friend, every innocent worker, with the blood of one of Howe’s men.

It was their knowledge of the castle alone that kept them out of the way of the heaviest patrols, finally entering the main hall through a less-used passage. The sounds of a raging battle were clear in the main thoroughfares, and Elissa was in frank awe of those sounds. That their small house guard would be putting up such a defense was a testament to their skill and loyalty.

In the large hall where she had spoken to Arl Howe earlier that day - wished him well, even, Sir Gilmore and a pitiful company were barring the doors.

Her and her mother’s presence was met with a panicked sword swing, which Elissa ducked and shoved her mother free from.

“M’lady,” Gilmore breathed, staggering back, “you’re alive! We feared…”

“Where is Bryce?”

“The lord went toward the kitchens.”

Eleanor nodded curtly, “I see. Sir Gilmore-“ and she faltered, the steely resolve stripped away to grief, as she reached out a hand.

“Thank you, m’lady,” he gave a sad sort of smile, then nodded toward the kitchens, “Please, go.”

Elissa looked between them, reading the expressions of the two speaking. Why had her father gone to the kitchens? What was there? Some sort of escape route? Sir Gilmore...was going to stay behind.

She wasn’t the most sentimental person, but she had always been close to the young knight. Not so much older than her, they had grown up together. He had been her first crush. Her first other things, as well, until duty and honor became more than words to them. The memory of that earlier conversation - he was being considered for the Order of the Grey.

“No,” she snapped, pulling closer to the small guard at the door.

“Elissa, come.”

“Mother, no.”

“Elissa!”

She was shoved, hard, back toward the kitchen. Her mother grabbed her unceremoniously by the front of her armor, as one of the armor-clad soldiers pushed at her back. Elissa clawed and kicked to get back to the main hall. She would not leave these people behind. She wanted blood. She wanted Howe’s blood. She would bathe in it, pour it down the halls until every surface was painted red.

After a moment, she realized she recognized the man pressing her back toward the kitchens. It was that Warden, Duncan. The one she had met, who had been speaking with her father and Howe.

“Did you know?” She shrieked, fighting against him with renewed vigor.

The double doors of the hall splintered, a snap, and soldiers began to rush in. Rood snarled and charged toward Howe’s men. She tried to reach for him, to keep him back. But her mother had already reached the door that would take them through the small corridor to the kitchens. That door closed behind them, and they were now in the stone walkway that would lead them to the kitchens. Even here, fire crackled, and soldiers marched in.

“No,” Duncan stated calmly before turning and blocking the swing of a sword. The blade made a resonating clang against the other before, faster than her eyes could follow, it fell and swiped again, coming back red and slick with gore.

They fought through a small number of soldiers, no more than three, until they reached the kitchen. Duncan pushed the heavy wooden door closed, barred it, and was moving the table used to prepare food against it. His movement was efficient, calm, but swift.

“Bryce!”

At her father’s name, Elissa turned. He was on the floor of the pantry, pushing a heavy rug away from what was revealed to be a hidden door. A sticky, crimson trail from the kitchen proper made a ghastly path to his side. Eleanor sank to her knees next to her husband, while Duncan pushed Elissa toward the door in the floor.

“They will be here soon.”

“Duncan,” her father coughed, “please, you must help Elissa and Eleanor.”

The man looked at the door, at Elissa, at Bryce, “Then I must invoke the Reve.”

“What? No,” her mother hissed.

“It is the only way. I cannot get involved, but if she joins the Order-“

“How dare you? How could you?” Her father looked about to stand, but his arms shook and gave beneath him.

“I am sorry, but you know it is the way of the Wardens. We cannot involve ourselves without consulting the Reve.”

“But you _are_ involved,” Eleanor began, “for here you stand and-“

“Stop it,” Elissa hissed.

The three looked at her, and in their shocked silence, she continued, “If I agree, you will get us out?”

“I will get _you_ out.”

“No. My family.”

“Elissa,” her father began, though it wasn’t the scolding tone she would have expected, “please. I won’t make it. You and your mother….”

“I won’t leave you,” Eleanor shook her head, pulling her quiver of arrows around to her side.

“Eleanor, my love-“

“We’ve no time.”

Sure enough, the sounds of armor came from just beyond the door.

“Bryce,” Duncan began again, he eyes flicking to the door.

He looked at his daughter, at his wife, then nodded.

“Come, Elissa,” Duncan barked the order, as if she were already a soldier under his command. He moved to the hidden door and heaved it open.

“Mother, come with me.”

“Go, Elissa. Go. Live.”

“But-“

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Mother, father-“

“Go!” Eleanor shouted, eyes flicking to the door that would soon bear the pounding of weapons and shields.

Duncan gripped her arm and tugged her forward, “Please, we must go.”

Elissa swallowed hard, blinking to keep the tears from her eyes. She had to move forward. Ahead was life and revenge. Behind was death. She dropped into the darkness below and didn’t look back.


	2. South Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan leads his new conscript South, through the growing darkness to Lothering, just outside of Ostagar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, friends, have some exposition. And fighting! There is fighting, also.

Duncan’s young recruit had little to say. He couldn’t blame her. She had ended the night of the attack in high spirits, tugging a young man with her out of the main hall and toward her bedroom, only to wake to screams, blood, and fire. He tried not to think of the sight of her emerging from the caverns outside of Cousland castle, covered in blood and ripping free from the underbrush, like a perversion of birth.

They had, of course, stopped soon after, and she had bathed, but he caught her staring at her hands, her arms, as if still seeing the splashes of red. Still she continued forward. He understood well the strange stickiness that stayed on the hands after a battle like they had experienced.

“We have to find Fergus,” she had muttered into the fire, “Tell him what happened. About Oriana and Oren.”

“It is fortunate we are headed South, though we will be some days behind him.”

She nodded, “When we arrive in Ostagar. Perhaps by the time we arrive someone else will have had the honor.”

For the first two days, she kept turning to look over her shoulder, perhaps looking to return. By the third she had stopped, and he never thought to ask.

Duncan was not a hard man, but he recognized private grief when he saw it. He had known Bryce for many years, had fought with him. To Elissa, however, he was a stranger, and all that she had lost sat upon her shoulders like stones. He could no more lift them from her than bring back all that she had lost, so he tried to offer silent support.

The bitter truth of their situation was made plain the further South they traveled.

Closer to Highever, towns and villages were deep in the midst of their sleepy lives, farmers tending to their crops, barmaids serving ale to dock workers, and city guard who wore armor gleaming with disuse.

At each stop, he tried to pull strings, call in favors, but the world had forgotten about Blights, and Fener no longer held the same respect. Or rather very few people followed the Reve.

When Duncan and Bryce had first met, it had been in the depth of war with Orlais. All of Ferelden was thrown into it, and with it came a deep devotion to the god of war. Fener was revered, celebrated, feared. Feast days were extravagant affairs, at least for a people so unaccustomed to extravagance.

Before that the land was split among the various terynirs, each of them fighting for their claim. Battle prowess was the measure of men and women alike, and Fener was strong.

And before even that had been the Blights, times of terrible strife, brought on by Jaghut tyrants breaking free from the chains of Tennes that held them for centuries, millennia. Few knew the tales of the First Blight, the deep winter that came, bearing with it the tendrils of Omtose Phellack, thrusting all of Thedas into a desperate struggle against ancient powers.

But the world was different now. Seemingly overnight, the people of Ferelden settled into comfortable lives. Increasingly guards were being pulled from the Thousand Sects of D’rek, brought into Ferelden from foreign lands. What few soldiers that they came by would note them, nod or otherwise acknowledge him, but it never went any further. Some even had the icons of Treach, the Tiger of Summer.

Invoking the Reve did little to convince those who knew nothing of it, and as Bryce Cousland had proven, even those still honoring Fener were hesitant to commit themselves to war.

It didn’t matter. They had what they had, and war would come regardless. When the time came, Duncan trusted that they would take up arms, but it was difficult to convince them of an oncoming storm when the last one was so very long ago.

Unless they were a mage, the likelihood of them noticing the pressure, the sickness in the warrens, was minimal, and the bulk of the mages were either locked away in some tower or on the front lines. Hood take them all, they didn’t know, and they didn’t want to know. It felt at times, with Clarel in Orlais, he was the only one to see Fener’s will be done. She had sent him to Ferelden at the god’s bidding, and while the cause was plain - war was here - there was a strange sadness that he could not shake.

By day four, the worst of the dark cloud over the Cousland girl, Elissa, had passed. She no longer had the hardened features, though the dark circles remained. Just in time, as that was the day they encountered the first bandits.

Duncan would have seen fit to let them go, not looking to fight random brigands over worldly possessions that held little to no significance to him. But the fools thought the fully armored soldier bearing a shield with the tusks of Fener and a woman, with sword and dagger strapped to her hips, who merely laughed when they demanded their gold, were a good mark.

It was the first time that he had seen her in action outside of the small, frantic skirmish in the corridor before the kitchen, and his initial suspicions were confirmed - she was fast; she was efficient; she was deadly.

Unexpected was her use of Meanas. He had heard of fighters in other lands trained to use warrens minimally, even without having the skill at birth. She seemed to know only how to hide herself and only for short bursts of time. She couldn’t be an Adept then, but it was worth noting all the same.

The thugs numbered five, and Duncan was pleased to find that without orders, Elissa flitted to the flank, where an archer was drawing his bow, sliding unseen past the heavier men in the center. He could spare no more attention on his companion, however.

Duncan lifted his shield to block the oncoming arrow and made a feinting lunge against the heaviest brigand. The man, armed with a greatsword, swung it in a wide arc - no finesse - that Duncan evaded, stepping in closer and ripping his own sword up with a grunt. The sharpened edge sank into the meat of the man’s leg, up to the hip, and the greatsword fell with a shattering clang.

Elissa had made quick work of the archer. A single arrow had flown at him, and in his peripheral vision he saw the man on the ground, but the girl was gone. For a moment he thought he had misjudged, that she wasn’t ready for battle again so soon, just before she sprang from the shade of a tree, sword replaced with twin blades coming down in an arch, as she leaped, each dagger landing directly, sinking deep into the soft flesh between shoulder and neck.

The man she had attacked fell forward, short sword and shield slipping from his hands. She followed his fall, knees against his back, pulling the knives free with a wet tug, as he hit the ground.

It was only a second, maybe a few, of distraction, and one of the five was upon him. He blocked the worst of the blow, but the tip of the man’s blade hit mail, the blunter steel skipping over the well-maintained armor. Still he could feel a break in the chain dig into his chest. With a heave, he pushed the man off of him, only to watch in horror or awe, as one of Elissa’s blades flew past his face, close enough to see his reflection, had he time to do so, and sank deep into his attacker’s face.

Sparing no more time to watch his companion, he turned to the final combatant and witnessed him flee, weapons discarded.

He thought to give chase, to ensure that there would be no reciprocation, but it was unlikely anyway.

Annoyance, even anger, became surprise when he turned to find Elissa handling their fallen foes with care, something like tenderness on her features.

She gently removed her blade from the man who had gotten close to him, covering his ruined visage with cloth. She knelt slightly, lifting the corpse by the shoulders and dragging - an impressive feat of strength, given her size - to place him off the road. It was not the most elegant, but he recognized her aim.

He followed her lead, moving the bodies that had until moments ago been men to the shaded area beside the main thoroughfare. They worked in silence, returning the dead men’s weapons to their sides, closing their eyes, and covering their wounds.

There was no time to do more. Elissa laid dried herbs from a small bag on her hip upon each and stood back.

Only when the work was done did she speak, “Fear makes them desperate. With training, they could have done well. Could have served.”

Elissa shook her head and looked away, cleaning her weapons at least enough to re-sheath. The sun was not yet low in the sky, and Duncan had no care to stay nearby the site of the ambush.

They continued South, heading deeper into the desperation of a people fleeing the inevitable.

Fires burned in some of the villages they passed, the stench of them eye-watering. There were corpses on the road, men and women who had been better targets for roving thieves, given less respect in their deaths than those who had attacked the warden and his recruit.

At each of these sites, Elissa stopped, saw to the rituals of Hood as best as she was able. She had collected ash at one of the destroyed buildings they had passed, and she used it to anoint the fallen along their path.

On the second day of this, his curiosity had grown, “You know of Hood’s ceremonies. Are you an Acolyte?”

Elissa shook her head, “I’m not really. My mother, as you may know, was an Adept of Meanas. She taught me what she could, though I’ve never had the power she has. Had. Her family came from a line of...well, Hood is not unknown to my ancestors.”

He nodded, “And your father taught you the Reve?”

“I know that you could have invoked the Eighth Law, and he would have submitted and sent me along anyway. Earlier than you did, I mean.”

Shame flitted through him for a moment. It was true. While not stated, his demand at the end, standing in the kitchens while Bryce bled out, was an undeniable one for a true follower of the Reve. Invoking it was the equivalent of Fener himself stretching down and plucking Elissa into his favor and service.

Elissa’s hand waved in dismissal, “I would not have been there to fight with my mother, then. And she would not have had the chance to die with my father. And I might not know that it was Arl Howe, spineless coward, that sent his well rested soldiers against the meager house guard in some gambit for power. I might not be able to find Fergus, to get father’s final message to him.”

She spit to the side, and Duncan straightened.

Her words were true. And it seemed that, though not over the grief or the anger, she was calm enough.

“You performed the rite even for those that attacked us.”

She shrugged, thumb tracing the edge of the rough leather of her scabbard; he noted that she had been wearing them at her hips on the road, though remembered when she had carried them on her back at home. Truly this young woman was knowledgeable in combat. The circumstances were no coincidence.

“They may have been terrible people; it’s hard to tell. They may have been desperate. Regardless of that, they were dead and could do no further harm.”

Duncan nodded, and she continued.

“I’d rather Hood take them anyway.”

He laughed at that, and she grinned, a roguish grin, one hardened by her family history, her training, the past week.

There was little for them on the road. Once past Kinloch Hold and its imperious mages, things became more barren. Farms were empty, the crops withered, the livestock dead and rotting. Families huddled in battered carts on the road, some moving further South, some moving North, a growing chain of refugees that painted the stark reality of war.

Duncan prayed to Fener. He was not the Shield Anvil, but he would see the suffering end. Soldiers were not the only ones to pay the price in conflict, a truth that the Order knew well.

Elissa would go grim and silent, eyes tracking the long line of refugees. She would offer what she could to the children in these parties, but their own supplies were dwindling, and they had little of value to offer.

They stopped in Lothering in the final days of their journey. It had once been a quiet town, save for its temple to Burn; now it was bursting at the seams. Armed guards allowed limited entry, and a camp of those fleeing the farmland just north of Ostagar was starting outside the village proper.

The sounds and smells of humanity packed in too tightly assaulted them from the bridge, and for a moment, he thought he could hear his companion’s teeth grinding. But he could do nothing, and neither could she. They hadn’t the resources to feed, clothe, and bathe an entire camp. But perhaps he could recruit some of them.

It was not the normal practice of the Order. Wardens, as they were sometimes called, felt a calling; they were most often soldiers who followed the Reve already. Occasionally they were men or women looking to atone. Rarely were the desperate or destitute brought in; there were organizations that did that - the Crimson Guard came to mind - but Duncan was hesitant, feeling that they would be ill trained before the battle would start.

Elissa muttered something about the temple and did not follow him, joining him only later, when he had indeed found some capable young men who wanted to join the cause. Her spine was steel when she returned, eyes set straight ahead. She said nothing, but it was clear to him that her errand was a disappointment - if seeking aid, most likely the priests and priestesses within were unable to part with the offerings to their god, citing, no doubt, their holy cause.

His time was not wasted while she was away. The camp held hunters, guards, even former soldiers, as well as refugees. It took some time, conversing and wandering through the crowd, but he not the only one in the crowd in full kit.

“My wife is in Redcliffe,” he overheard a man in the heavy armor of a trained knight speaking to one of the locals, “and I’m hoping to get back to her, but…I cannot let what’s happening go on without trying to join with the king, right?”

“Things’ll be getting worse here before they get better. I know the mothers of the temple would welcome you. Good pay in it.”

“The greater threat lies to the South,” the man said.

Duncan approached, noted that the man recognized Fener’s seal, “I hear you are thinking of traveling South. Myself and one of my company are on our way now. We’ve stopped for supplies but will be returning to the road this evening. If you wish to join the king, you are welcome to come along.”

“You’re a member of the Order of the Grey,” the templar next to the man muttered in awe, to which Duncan merely nodded.

“The mercenary group? What are you doing here?”

“We’ve been hired by King Cailan to fight the Darkspawn. I went North to gather recruits.”

The man who had been discussing his plans stepped forward, offered a hand, “I am Ser Jory. I would be proud to travel with you and, if you’ll have me, to join your Order. Fener may not be so popular as he once was, but I know his import.”

“Duncan,” he responded in introduction, “We’re happy to have you along. I’ve a camp up by the bridge. Meet me there. I must collect my other recruits.”

Ser Jory saluted, bid farewell to the templar and made his way through the crowd. Duncan waited to see if perhaps the other man would request to join, but he looked suddenly rather awkward and would not meet his eyes - just as well. It was clear that Lothering would need whatever armed help it could get.

Further along through the main thoroughfare he found an archer backing into a wagon, as a group of angry men surrounded him, “You took something, I done seen it!”

The archer held up his hands, “I’ve nothing! I swear it!”

Duncan rushed to his aid, “Gentlemen! These are desperate times, and we have an army of Darkspawn approaching. We must not fall to barbarism!”

“Oh? And who is this now?” the ringleader of the mob sneered, turning to face him. 

The crowd took in Duncan’s armor and started to back away, though some of them were still bold, chests puffed out, shoulders back. He paid no attention to them.

“Rather than mete out justice and become murderers, allow me to conscript this man. I will take him South, where he can fight Darkspawn in the name of penance.”

It was a gamble, but it paid off. Most likely some of those assembled had already seen the creatures, knew the offer to be one that no sane person would find attractive, and the archer’s face, perhaps even more frantic now than it had been, gave that much away.

“Alright, fine. Take him.”

A larger brute within the crowd grabbed the archer and tossed him at Duncan’s feet. He knelt and scooped the man up, bringing him onto his feet, “Your name?”

The man looked miserable, “Daveth.”

“Daveth,” Duncan repeated, “come with me.”

When they were out of earshot of the cheering crowd, he leaned over, “You’ll of course be paid, and we’ll equip you. It’s no so bad.”

The man shrugged, seemingly resigned to his fate, “What difference does it make? Leastaways I can take down some of the bastards and not be reduced to mob rule.”

When Duncan arrived back at the camp, Ser Jory was waiting, and he could see Elissa making her way back towards them. She arrived soon after, and they prepared to be on their way. No point in lingering any longer.

With the new recruits in tow, they continued. Only a few days more to Ostagar, and then time would be running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Resources:
> 
> 1\. D'rek: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/D'rek
> 
> 2\. Hood: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Hood
> 
> 3\. Warrens: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Warrens


	3. Ruins of Ostagar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa arrives with the others at Ostagar, the planned site of the battle with the Darkspawn, and a place where the warrens are fevered. She meets the king, Loghain Mac Tir, and most importantly (though she doesn't know it yet) Alistair.

The sun was low in the sky when the new and returning Order members stepped onto the ground just outside Ostagar. The fortress was in disrepair, its tower the only structure still standing and intact. The walls, once grand stone monuments rising proud against the backdrop of the Korcari Wilds, were crumbled - no defense against waves of enemies, if it came to it, though more defensible at least than the small villages they had visited.

Elissa followed Duncan up the sloped bridge, turning slowly to take in her surroundings. She felt...something. It was like a warren, but less refined and _off_. It wasn’t one she was familiar with, not that she was overly familiar with any of them. Her abilities with Meanas were marginal at best, and hard-won at that, but she had been around magic users who made use of others, and none of them had the same flavor. 

“We are camped near the northern most corner of the ruins,” Duncan was explaining, “If you need kits, you can ask for quartermaster Albert.”

Remarkably, both recruits from Lothering had less than Elissa had herself upon fleeing the castle, though she had been equipped with her armor and weapons when she fled. An ironic bit of luck now, as the other two nodded briefly and turned toward the direction Duncan had indicated.

Having no needs and with nothing else to do, Elissa thought to make her way to the main camp to look for Fergus. There was a group approaching from the other end of the bridge, light glinting off of polished armor. Someone important then. Coming to meet them specifically? Or simply walking the ramparts?

Duncan stood a bit straighter when he caught the same sight.

It was still a handful of strides before any details became clear, but when they were, Elissa recognized the men approaching. She shouldn’t have been surprised to see them, given the situation, but even with her standing in society she had never met the king or his general personally, beyond being in attendance in the same room. The King was young yet, and his stride made that plain enough. His general, Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, had fought with the king’s father, along with Bryce Cousland, was the father of the current queen, and was a known follower of Fener himself, though he seemed little impressed by the presence of the Mortal Sword.

The younger man’s warm smile was a surprise to her, more for the current situation, Darkspawn beating a path toward the crumbling keep, than for his position. Surely kings smiled, she figured.

“Duncan!” 

Duncan bowed stiffly, “King Cailan. Loghain.”

Loghain seemed far less pleased than the king but returned the acknowledgement with a nod. His fierce, hawk-like gaze turned to her then, and she knew she was being appraised. She nearly reached for her warren instinctively but held back, instead looking up to meet his eyes. Silence stretched between them, and she bolstered her will, remembering her father and mother, remembering everyone who had fallen at home. They flashed in her mind; she could hear them, feel their final heartbeats, taste the copper of blood in their mouths. She was the only Cousland left standing from that terrible night, and she would lick Hood’s toes before she would give any less than they would.

The king’s voice broke the contest, “And this must be your new recruit! It’s a pleasure - the Grey Wardens are always welcome. You look familiar.”

She let her stare linger another moment before turning and giving a curtsy, “Your majesty. I am Elissa Cousland, daughter of Bryce and Eleanor.”

Did she imagine Loghain shifting his weight at the mention of her parents?

“Oh, I see. We heard…” the king trailed off, sighed, “I am sorry for your loss.”

Feeling bold, Elissa met his eyes, “You’ve heard? So...has Fergus been told?”

Loghain now spoke, the first time since the encounter began, “Fergus took his troops into the wilds to search for potential raiding parties.”

Silence stretched for a moment, while Elissa considered this. It could be coincidence; Fergus was known to be a fine tracker and hunter, and Highever was itself surrounded by untamed land, enough to make her army well suited for the assigned task. But nothing now in the world was simple, and she doubted that this was just a case of putting the best troops where they needed to be.

“I look forward to fighting with you and the Order, but if you’ll excuse me, the general was taking me on a tour of the ramparts to point out the flaws in my plan,” Cailan chuckled, perhaps unaware of the sudden ice in the air.

Elissa’s eyes flicked to Loghain once more, who had paused his study of her to look at the king, his frustration clear. She made no comment but stepped out of their way, waiting for Duncan to lead her further into camp.

Instead he squinted against the setting rays of the sun, “I should join them, Elissa. Head into camp and seek out Alistair. He is our newest brother, and he will help you prepare for the Joining.”

She nodded but said nothing, as she turned to leave. Was it possible that Fergus was in danger? Had he been sent to the wilds so he could be dealt with? Dwelling on it would get her nowhere. Not caring to watch the three men walk back the way she had just come, she turned toward the remaining length of the bridge and started toward the open courtyard in front of the ruined keep. She would find him herself, see what he knew and make sure he was safe.

The sounds of an army barracks reached her - the chime of swords striking, shouts, Mabari howling. The sounds of the dogs prodded the scab of her still raw sense of loss. Rood has disappeared in the melee at the castle, and she feared he was gone, along with her parents, her nephew, and everyone she ever knew, save Fergus. If something had happened to him, as well...Beru fend.

She tightened her hands into fists, wishing she could grip all of that pain, hold it in her palms and squeeze until it burst. As if in answer, her head began to throb, pulses of pain that sent shocks to every nerve. There were magic users here, many of them, and they were weaving their warrens together. But they were tainted with that same strange flavor that she had been catching hints of since of her arrival. 

She passed by a row of tents, nondescript and kept away from the others, and the pain increased. She hissed, squeezing her eyes shut. A bored looking man in loose robes looked up at her from a pattern he drew in the dirt with a stick. 

“You’re new.”

Elissa squinted at him through the waves of nausea, “What is going on?”

He looked over his shoulder, “They’re trying to find the source of that warren.”

“What is it?”

“Chaos. Shouldn’t be here.”

“Is that...because of the Blight?”

The man barked a laugh, “Here I thought you could sense it!”

She took a steadying breath then reached out tentatively to feel for Meanas; strenuous as her control was, she wouldn’t be insulted. She recoiled almost immediately, staggering back.

The man stood, spat, “You’re young and stupid, girl. Don’t rise to every challenge,” he scolded, reaching out to steady her.

His hands were gnarled, twisted things, rough with age and use, but his grip was strong on her arm. She felt turned around, too dizzy to be angry at his words.

“Sit,” he commanded, and she did.

“Drink this,” he pushed a cup in her face, and she took it, tilting its contents to her lips. It burned on the way down, and she nearly gagged, but the pulsing in her temples died down.

“What is happening?” She was able to choke around harsh coughs.

The man shook his head, “Damned if I know. Hood take us all, this is nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Elissa took a handful of steadying breaths, choosing to forget the damn warrens for now, “I am here to join the Order of the Grey. But I am...I am looking for Alistair.”

She wanted to find Fergus. Needed to find him. But she had accepted the invocation of the Reve, and she would not dishonor her father’s memory by failing in her duty before it even began. She would speak to Duncan, find a way to get to her brother. For now, she put aside Elissa Cousland and reached for the Warden.

Something like pity or sadness passed over the older man’s features, but he only nodded, “I see. I don’t know Alistair, but the Wardens are camped there,” he pointed toward the center of the courtyard, “and they have been training on the western ramparts.”

She nodded slowly then stood, “Thank you…?”

“Hella the Young,” he grinned, revealing a mouth of missing teeth.

She got a better look at him, then. The mage was old, no way to sugar coat it, but his eyes were bright and vibrant. He was skinny all over, his bony fingers a good representation of the rest of him. 

“Thank you, Hella,” she repeated before nodding to indicate that she would head toward the practice yard.

“Keep your warren closed, lass,” he barked at her back.

She waved her understanding but didn’t turn to acknowledge him further.

The Wardens’ camp was smaller than she would have thought. Elissa knew that the Order of the Grey was spread out, but with the reemerging of a Mortal Sword, she thought for sure they would have come together again. The rows of tents, even with soldiers doubling up, could only have held a dozen or so companies, maybe 1500 Wardens all told. 

Hella had said the Wardens were training on the western ramparts, which explained the quiet through the main avenue she travelled but not the small numbers.

Shaking off her growing disquiet, Elissa turned to the west. The courtyard was overgrown, stone remnants littering an otherwise green expanse, until she came to wide, shallow steps that led up to a low wall. She followed the steps up and turned, following the sounds of voices.

“We’re not corrupting the warrens,” a man’s voice whined, “and you can tell the blasted healer that.”

Another man answered with a sarcastic lilt, “Yes, I’ll just pop right over and let the High Denul adepts know that I, with no talent to speak of, have confirmed your mages are not the source.”

Another short flight of stairs had Elissa on an overlook where the owners of the voices could now be seen.

The angry man wore the robes of a brother in service to Burn, “Fine. I will talk to her myself, if it will mean she will stop sending peons to pester me.”

The other man, clearly a Warden from the armor he wore, frowned, “And here I thought we were getting along. I was going to name one of my children after you. The grumpy one.”

Fire raged behind the brother’s eyes before he turned and stalked past Elissa, very nearly shoving past her. She watched him go, about to scold him for his rudeness, but she remembered again that here she held no rank. Her mouth snapped shut.

Now alone, the soldier turned to her. He was not so tall as Duncan, but his shoulders were broad, his arms thick and corded with muscle that came from years of training with a sword and shield. She recognized the signs of his fighting style from her own time training with Fergus. He was handsome to Elissa’s eyes, tanned skin, fair hair, and deep eyes the color of rich bronze, stubble that likely erred on the side of inappropriate. Disciplined but perhaps willing to bend rules, much like herself, she thought.

“You know,” the man sighed, watching the space where the other man had just stood, “One nice thing about the Blight is how it brings people together. Are you here to yell at me, too?”

She offered him a slow smile, “If you like.”

That won her a smile in return, before she added, “But no. I’m here by order of Duncan. I’m to speak to someone about the Joining.”

“Ah. You’re one of the new recruits! I’m Alistair. You’re not...what I expected.”

“My father said the same,” she threw back in a moment of witty ignorance, forgetting for one sweet moment the dark red puddle on the stone floor of the kitchens, the same dark red color staining his teeth, as he spoke his last words to her. But those images came back quickly, and her mouth went dry. She frowned.

Alistair noticed and paused before adding whatever quip he had in mind, “Well we’ll need to round up the others, and then we can start the preparations.”

“What is this ritual?”

Another pause, “I can’t say. Not until we’ve prepared.”

“Secret order, right. And this is...not something I can do on my own?”

A chuckle, “I asked the same thing. Unfortunately no, I’ll have to accompany you, but I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

She bowed, “My thanks. Well, in that case, shall I go round up the others?”

“We’ll need to meet with them and Duncan.”

“Duncan was meeting with King Cailan, who greeted us when we arrived. And the others…” Elissa looked back the way she had come; it had seemed rather empty, except for Hella, and he didn’t seem the type to have been newly recruited, “I only met a mage on the way in.”

The young man looked out over the courtyard, “No doubt they’ll wind up in camp eventually, so we’d best head that way.”

With an arched eyebrow, Elissa gave a nod and turned back to the center of the courtyard, as directed.

“So Alistair,” she began, testing the name on her tongue, as they descended the short stairs, “tell me about yourself.”

“Ah,” he started, hesitation plain, and Elissa chided herself for her boldness.

“I was raised as a Templar until Duncan recruited me about 6 months ago. I was raised in the Temple of Burn, and becoming an acolyte was a decision made _for_ me. Duncan saw I was unhappy, and...well, I doubt the clerics would have let me go, if he hadn’t pressed the issue. I’ll always be grateful to him.”

They were approaching the tents, crossing the short expanse between them and the wall, “You sound quite fond of Duncan.”

He shrugged slightly, perhaps embarrassed, “I spent years resigned to my fate. He was the first person to ask me what _I_ wanted.”

Elissa remembered the night that she joined, the Mortal Sword invoking the Eighth Law. It wasn’t his fault that she hadn’t had a choice, but she found herself wistful, wondering if she would have had a more fanciful story had Howe not betrayed them all.

“So you didn’t wish to remain in the temple?”

Another shrug, “I’ve nothing against Burn of course. But it wasn’t for me. I like being here. I’m proud to be a Grey Warden.”

Elissa nodded thoughtfully, ending the interrogation, as they stepped into the camp. It was a bit strange, if she considered it. Duncan had said on the way South that they tended to recruit from soldiers’ ranks, men and women familiar with and already pledged to Fener. This man had been in the service of Burn. How did he come to the tusked god anyway?

Now with a guide through the maze, Elissa caught some signs of life among the rows - embers outside of a tent, low voices coming from off the main thoroughfare of the camp. She walked past tent after tent, the avenue of uniform canvas like a strange tunnel leading to the more well-lit cavern of the central meeting space. 

At the end of the hundred yard path, the camp opened onto a large square with a handful of fires, around which small groups of soldiers sat, bent over meals or participating in games of chance. At one low table, Elissa was surprised to see a soldier holding a hand of cards from the Fatid. She paused to see what kind of game was being played. At least in the North, the cards were never seen outside use by a Talent, and even then it was rare.

“What’s this?”

Alistair followed where she gestured, “Oh, yes. Scoop there picked up this tradition far from here. He’s not from Thedas originally. Comes from a place called Genabackis? Something strange like that. Said that soldiers he met there played all the time.”

“Seems...ill advised.”

“Just watch.”

So she did.

“The game is Wicked Grace,” an older soldier, Scoop she assumed, was grumbling while shifting through the cards. He stopped suddenly and pulled one free, flipping it unceremoniously onto the table, “Mistress of Shadow sets the course tonight.”

At the man’s words, Elissa felt a tingle at her neck. She turned more fully to the table to see the card. The man spared her a glance, and they looked at the card at the same time. 

As a girl, she had attended only two readings, but everyone knew the cards changed. She hadn’t been alive then, but when Ammanas ascended to the empty throne, the card changed, no longer an empty throne and house. And that was only the major changes - the cards could take any shape they wished.

And now she saw, at the same time the caster did, that the Mistress of Shadow was not veiled, as normal, but had taken on an uncanny resemblance to the Cousland rogue standing there.

She backed away, ducking her face from the view of the man leading the game. She turned and jogged in what she hoped was a casual manner to where Alistair was introducing himself to the new recruits.

“Ah, there you are,” Duncan’s voice sounded, and she whirled to see the older man, still in somewhat of a panic.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked quietly, seeing her pallor and stricken look.

She nodded vaguely before seeing the packs by Alistair’s feet, “Where are we going?”

Duncan, ever patient, a requirement for leading the seasoned troops of the Order of the Grey, said nothing of her bluntness, “You are going into the Korcari Wilds. Alistair, you and I have spoken of what you are seeking. And as for our recruits, each of you will bring back a vial of Darkspawn blood.”

Her fingers itched, wanting to grab her blades, wanting to rip up that card. It was just a trick of the mind. Or perhaps someone was an Adept with Mockra and had spun the illusion as some sort of hazing ritual.

“Right,” said one of the other recruits, Ser Jory, a large man in heavy armor, “what’s it for?”

“The Joining,” Duncan offered before continuing, “Alistair here is our newest member, and he will be journeying with you.”

“You afraid?” The other man sneered; he was tall, less broad, but clearly an archer, based on the roped muscle of his arms.

“I just don’t understand why we need blood.” 

“You’re here already. It’s too late to second guess yourself now.”

Despite her unease, something rang in the back of her mind for an instant - the wilds. They were going to the wilds. 

“Duncan,” she stopped him from leaving their group just yet, “Fergus is in the wilds. You heard the king. While we’re there, I wonder if…”

She trailed off, hopes dashed at the look on Duncan’s face, “I wish I could say yes, but this is an important matter.”

“I just thought-”

“It’s not up for discussion Recruit.”

She inhaled sharply but did not respond. She turned away, chin held high.

“And who are you? What makes you so special?” Daveth sneered.

All eyes were now upon her. She scowled, “I’m the Mistress of Shadow.”

The archer barked a laugh, though both Alistair and the other warrior looked perplexed. She ignored them all and looked toward the looming gate to the South, “Is that where we need to go?”

At her question, Alistair returned to the task at hand, motioning to the packs, “We have supplies ready. If you’ve no other business,” he trailed off.

“Let’s go,” she huffed, reaching down and swinging one of the packs over her shoulder. She wanted to get out of this camp, away from the strangeness in the warrens, away from the Deck of Dragons. The Korcari Wilds sounded like a better option, even with its tales of witches and its proven Darkspawn. Something she could sink her blades into. Maybe she could find Fergus anyway. She heard the others fall in step behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Resources:
> 
> Ammanas: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Ammanas
> 
> Burn: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Burn
> 
> Fatid: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Deck_of_Dragons


	4. The Korcari Wilds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The warden recruits travel into the Korcari Wilds to find ingredients for the Joining as well as some other, unknown item, on behalf of Duncan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much of this is written after NaNoWriMo, but I've been struggling with the Deep Roads (of course) since then. Still that's something like 18 chapters away, so I'm posting now, just to get in a little more before the end of the year.

The wilds lived up to the name. The howl of a wolf greeted them, even as their boots hit the ground just outside the gate.

“The soldiers aren’t even coming out here,” the older, broader knight, Jory, supplied, “because there are so many Darkspawn. How can four of us hope to defend ourselves?”

The strewn remains of soldiers who had likely run into the wretched creatures themselves and not been very lucky littered the areas around the path, painting a clear picture of what Jory spoke.

“My brother and his troops are out here,” Elissa corrected, staring down at what was probably part of a leg. A wave of nausea threatened. She looked away.

Alistair glanced at the recruits with him, then sighed, “We, that is to say the Wardens, can sense the Darkspawn, so they won’t be able to ambush us. That’s why Duncan sent me with you.”

“How?” The archer, Daveth, had unslung his bow, just in case.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Elissa spat.

She couldn’t shake the disquiet in the air, her own fears. The wilds at least had more flavor to them, but the image of the card was stuck in her mind, not to mention the thought of Fergus and others she knew out here, where bodies littered the ground like leaves in autumn. The trees and brush they passed by were only background noise; each time she blinked, she saw the fuzzy, painted image of herself, shadows shifting around her, as if reaching out. Those shadows looked like hands. Hands of people dead and rotting by now. Hands of an army somewhere in these wilds. Hands of a tusked god gripping with the strength of Duty.

“Have you ever fought Darkspawn?” Jory, she recognized in the back of her mind, baiting Daveth.

The archer puffed his chest, “I seen ‘em.”

Alistair, either unaware of the pissing contest unfolding or hoping to quell it, spoke up, “I wasn’t prepared the first time. Twisted, awful creatures.”

“I’ve heard they-“

“Be on guard!”

Alistair‘s warning brought her suddenly, wholly back into the present. She drew her blades and dropped back to allow the two heavier fighters to slide past her. Jory and Alistair both favored one-handed weapons and shields; it was clear that Jory had the wisdom of age and experience, but Alistair had a precision that was only borne of rigid training.

While D’rek was no God of War, the Thousand Sects of D’rek, in their prime, had established the Templars to protect their many temples. Their numbers had dwindled over time, but other temples, like those devoted to Burn, had copied the practice; they recruited young, and they trained hard. Alistair was clearly a product of this practice.

Daveth held back even further, taking shots in each gap left by the two fighters.

Elissa slid in between them, hanging low and swiping with her shorter blade. It wasn’t until she was up close that she realized how truly ghastly the Darkspawn were. Their skin was grey, corpse-like; even before she was close enough to slice through what looked like thick hide, she could smell their sour rot.

_Cold_. Not even like a corpse, but like ice. The air around its body felt frigid, smelled sharp and musty all at once, like ice that had sat for a long time and was only now beginning to melt. Its skin, too, had the look of a body long frozen and now set to thaw.

Biting back a gag, she relied on instinct - anything with legs needed them for balance. Holding her sword up to block, she whipped her dagger left, dragging it quickly to the right in a single slicing movement that slid smoothly along the backs of the creature’s ankles.

The blood that spilled was black and somehow even fouler than the thing itself. She rolled past and to the side, giving the two shields space to move again. She rocked back up to her feet and came face-to-face with a snarling, frothing set of gnashing teeth. Rearing back, she struck out with her blade, watching with some revulsion, as it sank into the open maw before ripping back out.

Blood sprayed, but it didn’t hit her. A gauntleted hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her out of the way, the sudden motion jarring. She stumbled, turned. She looked up to see Alistair’s face turning away to rejoin the fray.

“The blood’s poison,” he called out to them, as he lifted his shield to block a downward blow, “Don’t let it touch you!”

At his bellowed warning, Jory stepped back, further from the corpse-like creatures.

Three more, larger than the first, were coming up behind those falling to their blades. Arrows flew in from the right, thick and crude, not the ones Daveth used. She turned to see a squatter creature, with a heavy bow, taking aim. Elissa ducked into the meager shadows nearby around her, hesitant to use any of her training with Meanas, given the warnings, and sprinted toward the archer.

If it had spotted her previously, it seemed to lose her again in the chaos, as it took aim at the other archer. She slipped around and behind. Awareness came too late, as her knife slid across its throat. She stepped back to avoid the blood, given Alistair’s warning.

Daveth gave a short nod of thanks before turning slightly, drawing, and sinking his own arrow into the hazy eye of one of the new attackers. It grunted and stumbled, swatting slowly and confusedly at its face, before Jory swung his sword out for the killing blow. The blade slid through the rough leather armor of the creature, and black spilled out. There were no guts to speak of, just black ooze with chunks of what may have once been organs.

Jory stumbled back and wretched.

The young Warden had engaged the final darkspawn. His left arm swung hard and fast, knocking the creature off its feet before he lunged, piercing its chest and yanking his sword out at an angle. He was different like this, fierce and alive, bold, powerful. The boyish charm of his earlier flirting, his wit, were turned now into fierce lines and tactical prowess.

Elissa wasn’t sure which version of this young man she liked better.

After taking a couple of breaths, he looked over the recruits, “Right. You each have a vial. Collect carefully.”

Remembering the slender glass container tucked into her belt, Elissa pulled it out and lifted the dead creature at her feet just enough to hold the vial beneath the still weeping wound in its neck. When the vial was full she wiped it against the monster’s own armor and stoppered it.

She took the opportunity to study the creature, turning it onto its back with her boot. It was humanoid, but it had never been human. It was too tall, half a head larger than any human she had ever seen. The squatter ones were too short. Their faces seemed almost flat, partially because of the rot that had taken their features, but they were too broad to begin with. The arms, too, were too long. Their appearance was that of a human that had been altered just slightly, small adjustments that as a whole made them unnerving to look at.

She pocketed the vial and stepped away to join the others.

“Great job,” the young man beamed on her approach, “now let’s keep moving. We’ve one more stop to make.”

* * *

Alistair trusted Duncan’s judgment for obvious reasons: he was older, had plenty of experience, and was, of course, the Mortal Sword of Fener. Nevertheless he had doubts about Ser Jory and Daveth both; the former seemed to jump at every sound they encountered, and the latter was clearly a charlatan. But Elissa, the youngest of the new recruits, was also the most talented.

He had seen her at the edges of the skirmishes that they had, and he was duly impressed. She was fast, agile, and decisive. Even now, she was studying a letter she had found, reading it aloud for all of them to hear - a priest of D’rek had ventured into the wilds to share his beliefs with the Chasind people, and he was expecting his son to follow.

“We need to find him, warn him of what’s coming,” she had said, looking up from the parchment and squinting against the sun. 

He noticed Daveth staring, jaw open, as the woman chewed on her bottom lip. He narrowed his eyes at the man in warning, and in response received a sort of incredulous look that clearly said ‘don’t you think she’s attractive?’

He did. She had rich, warm skin, gorgeous earthen eyes, and lips that he knew for a fact would be absolutely delightful to press his own against. She was well muscled, in the way that most duelists were, lithe and rather…bendy. But none of that mattered. What mattered was that she could work with a team, fight Darkspawn, and provide an example of what a soldier should be. 

He wanted her to join the Order because she would be a true asset, and he wouldn't allow baser instincts - his or anyone else’s - tarnish her experience with the wardens.

The map the priest had left behind wound through the slight valley between hills that represented the very beginnings of the wilds. It was marshy and uneven, and Elissa and Daveth both had the benefit of lighter armor, so they scouted ahead. 

There were other Darkspawn, small bands that they fought in a sort of running engagement. They would progress, fight a small party of four to eight, and then move on again. In truth he wasn’t surprised when they found the camp marked by the priest empty, except for another letter advising that it was unsafe to continue.

They also found something that had Elissa stopped and staring - a patch of cloth, ripped from a tabard, most likely. She knelt in the mulch by a particularly wet part of the marsh and retrieved it, fingers wiping away the mud, brows knit in concentration. 

He approached carefully, less sure footed than her and more heavily armored, so a wrong step would see him sinking into inches of mud, “What have you got there?”

She held up the fabric, “Bit of a tabard. It’s…part of the Highever crest.”

He cleared his throat, hesitated on what to do - should he clasp her shoulder? Give her space? She didn’t seem like one to welcome direct contact, but she also had a warmth about her. He erred on the side of caution and offered only, “No doubt many men were sent with your brother. I’m sure they are fine and will return.”

She nodded distractedly but said nothing in response. After a moment she stood, pocketing the small bit of fabric, and turned, “I think it’s safe the assume that the priest is dead, but I think we’re near where he said he hid the message for his wife. We should retrieve it, if we can, don’t you think?”

Alistair nodded, “I think that would be nice, yes.”

She was right. The tree stump described in the second note was nearby, and the small package easy to find. And from there, it was just a matter of rounding the base of a hill to get to their final destination.

* * *

Elissa’s first encounter with a witch of the wilds was...interesting. She had heard of hedge mages, of course - untrained, using ancient rituals that didn’t draw on warrens. And it was clear that the woman approaching them was just that. She wondered if that was how this woman now before them was able to go unnoticed by whatever foul taste was infecting them here.

“Well, well, what have we here? Are you a vulture? A scavenger come to pick at a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, coming to these Darkspawn-filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?”

It was a fair question. The crumbled remains in which they stood clearly held nothing of value, and Elissa could not, for the life of her, guess what Duncan’s purpose sending them had been.

The woman addressing them was admittedly a bit theatrical, and Elissa’s companions fed right into it, if their nervous shifting and muttered curses were any indication. Her manner of dress didn’t help - haphazard, gathered from animal skins and feathers alike, and leaving little to the imagination. Elissa wondered about the cold nights but didn’t ask.

“What say you, hm? Scavenger or intruder?”

Alistair stepped up nearby, “Neither. We are with the Order of the Grey, and this tower is one of ours.”

The woman looked around, as if Alistair had lost his mind, “‘Tis a tower no longer. ‘Tis clear the wilds reclaimed it long ago.”

She walked past them, studying each in turn, “I have watched your progress for some time. ‘Where do they go?’ I wondered. _Why_ are they here? And now you disturb ashes that none have touched for so long. Why is that?”

Elissaa turned to watch her path through the ruins. Meager dress and in the presence of four armored fighters with no concern for safety - the woman was clearly a mage and likely a powerful one at that.

“Don’t answer her,” Alistair warned them quietly, “she looks Chasind. And that means others may be nearby.”

The woman chuckled, threw up her arms, “Ooh ho. You’re worried barbarians will swoop down upon you!”

Alistair glared, “Yes. Swooping is bad.”

“She’s a witch of the wilds, she is; she’ll turn us into toads!”

Elissa peered over her shoulder at Daveth, eyebrow raised in question, before rolling her eyes.

“Witch of the Wilds. Such idle fancies. Have you no minds of your own?”

“You there,” the woman now addressed her, “women do not frighten as easily as little boys. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine.”

“Elissa. A pleasure.”

“Now that _is_ a proper greeting, even out here in the wilds. You may call me Morrigan.”

“Now she’ll have power over you,” Daveth muttered.

Morrigan continued on, ignoring the man, “Shall I guess your purpose? You came here seeking something, I suspect, only to find it is here no longer?”

“Here no longer,” Alistair repeated with a biting lilt, “You stole it didn’t you? That sword is Grey Warden property, and I insist you return it immediately.”

The woman frowned, “I will not, for twas not I who removed it.”

“Do you know who removed this sword?”

“Twas my mother, in fact. If you wish, I shall take you to her. Tis not far from here, and you can ask her for your sword.”

Alistair stepped closer, “We should try to retrieve this sword, but I don’t like this. Morrigan being here? It’s too convenient.”

Elissa shrugged half-heartedly, “Do we have much choice? Can we return without this sword?”

His grimace was answer enough, but he turned to Morrigan, “I have an idea. How about we stay here, and you go and fetch the sword?”

“I do not _fetch_,” the witch frowned at him, “if you wish to ask after your precious sword, then you may follow. Otherwise stay.”

Alistair was clearly displeased, but she liked Morrigan and her easy confidence. Regardless of their opinions, however, the quartet followed her wordlessly through the wilds, taking paths likely only known to this woman and her mother. True to her word, it was not far, and soon after meeting they came to a humble wooden home tucked into a modest clearing.

An older woman stepped out from the door, watching their approach. Elissa’s initial reaction was to fold the shadows around herself, but she resisted the temptation. Though she recognized that the background headache she had been experiencing in and around Ostagar was not present here.

“Mother,” Morrigan called, “I bring before you four Grey Wardens, who -“

“I see them girl,” the older woman snapped, hobbling down the shallow steps to the ground, “Mmm. Just as I expected.”

Alistair scoffed, crossed his arms, “Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?”

The woman stepped closer, shrugged, “You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Close your eyes tight or open your arms wide, either way, one’s a fool.”

Something about the words tugged at Elissa’s mind. As the others continued talking, the image of the card came to her mind once more, her vague visage staring back at her from a slip of painted wood.

“And what of you, girl? What do you believe?”

Drawn from her reverie, she shook her head slowly, “I don’t know what to believe.”

This drew a laugh from the older woman, “A sentiment with more wisdom than it implies.”

Morrigan’s mother was difficult to read; was she crazy, or was she trying to give the appearance of being crazy? Hard to say.

She trailed off, turned to her house for a moment, “What you seek is here. And before you begin barking, you should know the seal wore off long ago. I’ve kept it safe.”

She wandered to the house, disappearing through the door for a moment before returning with a wrapped item.

“You...kept it safe?” Alistair sounded grateful, if not disbelieving.

“And why not? Take it, and know that this Blight’s threat is worse than you know.”

“Thank you,” Elissa murmured, taking the item from the woman. It was not terribly heavy, but it felt it, as if the longer she held it, the more it weighed her down. She blinked stupidly down at the item, trying to pinpoint why it made her feel...exposed. Sluggish.

“Time for you to go, then,” Morrigan chirruped.

“Oh do not be ridiculous girl. These are your guests.”

A sigh, “Very well. I will show you out of the woods. Follow me.”

With that they were off again toward Ostagar. Elissa handed the item to Alistair, happy to be free of its strange weight.

Morrigan had to lead them out of the wilds. Nice of her, since otherwise they likely would have been lost in a matter of minutes, doomed to wander the woods until they were overtaken by Darkspawn. Before they got to the perimeter of the scouts’ paths, however, the hedge mage bid them farewell and all but disappeared back into the underbrush.

Alistair and the three recruits returned silently to Ostagar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otataral: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Otataral


	5. The Joining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and the others participate in the Joining, and Elissa emerges as the Shield Anvil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fairly bloody chapter, and there is kind of a mention of a child soldier, if that's a Thing. I am still writing the Deep Roads. Rewriting. If I thought playing the Deep Roads was long...I had no idea. Oof.
> 
> This chapter also switches POV a few times, but I found that necessary for this to work.

The blood, as Elissa had expected, was a necessary tool for the Joining.

She, along with Ser Jory and Daveth, stood now within the camp of the Order of the Grey, the soldiers of the order around them, mages closer in, and Duncan between them all.

To say she had no nerves about this would have been a lie. She had never travelled through a Warren before. She had heard it was possible, but she had assumed, well, it was certainly nothing she had ever imagined herself doing.

“Fener’s Warren borders Chaos,” Duncan was explaining, gesturing to the recruits to hold up their vials, “and this can help mask you through to where we need to be.”

She stared into the dark liquid, wondering at how such a small thing could help her travel to another realm.

“Your mission is plain. Survive and return.”

Foreboding words, and the last she heard before stepping through the strange sort of tear that appeared before her.

* * *

Duncan had seen many fall during the Joining. It was no easy feat, but he had seen many more survive. To be a member of the mercenary troop, the Joining was not necessary, but with an unveiling of Omtose Phellack and the taint of chaos surrounding them here, and with it the greater need for true Wardens, he found himself desperate.

Fener’s warren was a battlefield, never ending and brutal.

He had heard tales before of Hood’s warren, the desolate landscape, a gate of bones, and beyond corpses. He had never been, at least not yet, but here, this place, he knew.

As the Mortal Sword, his presence made ripples within the other realm, creating an open path through which he could walk, avoiding the fighting that waged endlessly.

With only three in the group, he felt this would be a short ritual.

Of the three, he felt confident about Jory and the Cousland girl, at the least. While the latter was not a soldier, she was a fighter, and she understood the basic laws of this place better than some others might.

Despite the small number, the luxury of time was not offered to him, and so he began his search.

* * *

Daveth had perhaps oversold his experience, and the depth of that mistake was becoming plain to him now.

He had entered the tear to take him to the Warren, and apart from very nearly shitting his own britches, he passed through a hot, clammy sort of feeling before arriving in the middle of a strange battle.

He was atop a ramparts, made of stone he’d never seen, and below enemies that towered over a normal man. And him with his bow and arrow. Beside him were bestial creatures, armed with little more than clubs and spears.

The fighting was fierce, and he wanted no part in it. This wasn’t his goal; he had hunted, had joined a small band of thugs once upon a time, and he was good enough with his weapons, but this was war, and one with creatures far beyond him.

He scrambled away from the edge of the wall, sliding along the slick surface. The make of this building was something alien to him, almost like polished glass in its finish. If he peered too long at it, he thought he saw faces staring up at him.

Swallowing to wet his palate, he crept over the corpses of fallen soldiers until he found the stairs. He felt, more than heard, the rumble of one of the giants below hitting the wall, and his slow, careful moving turned frantic. He started a light jog down the winding passage, hugging the wall as more soldiers like those above came up in groups of four, five, six.

His foot came down awkward, ankle bending at a harsh angle over the edge of one step, and he shouted, as he tumbled down. He had not thought of how high up he must be, when he saw the size of the giants below, had not stopped to consider how far still was between their heads and the ramparts.

He thought of that now, as knee hit that smooth surface of stone, then elbow, his side, sometimes landing on the edge of one of the steps.

Finally he skidded to a halt and scrabbled at the even wall face to stand once more.

Back on his feet, he found himself hobbling awkwardly the rest of the way down. None of the soldiers going up spoke to him, though they seemed in a hurry.

On solid ground once more his faster pace returned, as quickly as he could move, favoring his left side, he turned the corner around the final steps, and he lost his stomach.

A courtyard here, surrounded on all sides by the strange, reflective stone, filled with bodies, all of them staring back at the horror within the walls.

He would have screamed, had he not been retching.

Given his options, he steadied himself as best he could and continued on, wading into the sea of dead soldiers. On the other side of the courtyard was the tall door that the giants had been battering, and beside it, a smaller gate through which he intended to escape.

He breathed into his bent elbow, avoiding most of the smell of what was around him.

This was no hazing ritual, no normal test of prowess. This was madness, plain and simple, and he would have no part in it.

His stumbling journey to the gate was a slow one, but he was finally able to grasp it. He tugged it harshly, and it groaned in protest but swung out enough to let him slip through. He passed underneath the wall, the area cold and dark, and finally he was out in the light.

From the ground now, he could see more of the soldiers that had been on the ramparts fighting here as well, hacking wildly at the flesh of the giants’ legs. They were covered, foot to knee, in wounds, some shallow, some deep and weeping with blood, but the giants seemed to ignore them.

In the distance, as far as he could see, the battle raged on. He screamed.

Daveth‘s scream was cut short when the giant turned, inadvertantly catching him, grazing him really, and driving him into the wall. He saw no more.

* * *

Duncan came to the Tower, the ancient war zone between the Thelomen and the now extinct lowlanders, the name of the people long lost to history.

This battle, more than the others, always had both amused and disappointed him. It was a display of ultimate futility, a mockery of what people thought of as war.

He found Daveth, body twitching in the aftermath, as his brain continued to send dying signals to his limbs. Though unseeing, his heart still beat.

Duncan performed a final courtesy, ending the man’s life swiftly.

* * *

Ser Jory was grateful he had worn his full plate to the ritual, as he walked through a thick, warm space that he felt certain would burn his skin, should it come into contact. Unsure of what was happening, he was almost relieved when he stepped onto drying grass and spun out of the way just before an armored horse galloped through the space he had just occupied.

Instinct directed his hand; he drew his sword, turning at the sound of metal clashing against metal.

For a moment, he was afraid he had woken in the midst of the battle at Ostagar, had fallen asleep somehow, or been put under some spell, so that he missed that strange, uneasy silence that came just before a charge.

But the soldiers he saw were not Wardens, and there were no Darkspawn here.

The warriors on horses were tall, with fair skin and hair. Those on the ground were humanoid, but they moved strangely, their bodies looking twisted, as if made with too many joints.

It was one of these that saw him, black eyes in skin paler than that of the riders focused suddenly, almost painfully on him.

He readied his shield, his blade. He didn’t understand what had happened, where he was, but this he could do. The creature spoke, some language he did not understand, but still he felt _compelled_. His left hand shook, the shield rattling against his vambrace. He grit his teeth until he tasted blood.

Whatever it was was clearly angered by his response to its shriek. It came towards him, faster than he would have thought, given the strange angles of its body. He saw its hands then, large and clawed, swiping at him once, twice.

He backed away, brought up his shield to defend from the second blow and brought his sword around in an arc. It slid over the arm of his attacker, sliced through it skin, as if it were paper, but it ignored the wound.

Jory ducked behind his shield and pushed, digging his back heel into the dusty ground beneath them. The thing shook on impact, teetered back slightly, but it maintained its ground.

Still, the distraction was enough, as another horse appeared, galloping by, the fair-haired warrior astride it swinging a curved sword, so white as to almost be blinding, down and through the neck of the creature.

“My thanks,” he called, but the rider did not respond.

He thought to find a horse himself; he could use the leverage.

In that moment, he took stock of his surroundings. On all sides the battle raged, some of the armored warriors on horses, others creating shield walls, and still others fighting individually with those same pale, many-jointed things.

Unsure what else to do he jogged to where the warriors with shields were regrouping, ducking around fights that he felt he would only distract from. The warriors said nothing to him, did not greet him, focused as they were on their task, but he found a hole, and he held up his shield, and they did not send him away.

He saw, too, why they had started the wall. On a hill in the middle distance a scaled creature had appeared; larger than a horse, it stood on two legs, leaned forward like a bird. It had no wings, and its two arms stretched out and flattened into blades that seemed to flutter faintly at its sides.

He had never seen anything like it, like an overgrown lizard with blades tied to its arms. He swallowed hard and settled his weight.

The uneasy silence fell, as the creature paced for a moment. Then holding its head up and back, it barked a strange sound into the air, and it ran.

It was fast. Impossibly fast.

The soldiers around him shouted something. He couldn’t understand the language they spoke; he could only follow suit, as those around him stepped forward and lifted their shields. He did the same. In those heartbeats, it was upon them, blades swinging down.

It pierced the first shield it hit, ripping it away from the soldier who owned it, scraped against the others. The weight of it pushed Jory to his knee.

He understood, then, when a rippling wave of white and heat came from behind them. They had been there to buy time.

The heat was unbearable; worse than the strange, sickly warmth that he had walked through, this was like fire. Hotter than fire.

But he felt it only a moment.

The Tiste Liosan regrouped.

* * *

The Forkrul Assail had only ever battled with the Liosan once, Duncan believed, but this was a common place that recruits found themselves. The Just Wars, Fener had supplied once, though the god seemed to find the name darkly humorous.

The sight of the Assail, no matter how many times he had seen them here, always put him on edge. Their hinged appearance was jarring to the senses; they were damned hard to kill, too. Perhaps impossible.

When he found Jory, it was by his armor alone that Duncan recognized him.

* * *

The pressure in Elissa’s skull was immense, pain flaring behind her eyes. One moment, she was stepping through what looked like a tent flap, made with the fabric of reality; the next, she was in a dark, but somehow light, miasma that felt like a fever, and then she was somewhere else.

A jungle, it seemed, or at the very least a forest rich with rain.

On all sides there was movement; she could hear it, sense it. The shadows swarmed, and she drew her blades, dancing away from her would-be attacker. The man came out of the shadows - at first appearing human, though larger, with skin the color of storm clouds, hair in ropes tied with charms and talismans.

She dropped down, and another man, looks similar to the first, but darker, as if all light dissipated around him, stepped up and engaged. It seemed that this other man, not Elissa, had been the target.

With the new information, her eyes adjusted, and she saw that such skirmishes were happening all around her.

A warren, she reminded herself. A warren of Fener, the god of war.

This was a war. She didn’t recognize the people, but that likely didn’t matter. War was war, and surely Fener did not care whose armies were fighting. The story, ultimately, was the same.

The lighter skinned man had cut down the second, his attention now truly on her. With a grimace she lashed out, ducking quickly to the side, behind, and lashing at the man’s ankles. He shouted and fell, and she struck a quick blow to his neck.

He fell, and she continued past him, stopping short of running into a spearhead and engaging once more.

Survive, Duncan had said. Survive and return. To survive, she would have to kill.

Her training had been paradoxical, she mused, as she spun to avoid a spear thrust in her direction, following the momentum to circle in closer to her foe. A jab, high and pointed toward the sky, returned a gurgling noise.

She had never wanted to be an assassin or a fighter, per se, but her family observed the Reve, and her mother had been a hunter for years. The expectation was plain that Elissa would learn how to fight, just as her brother had learned how to fight. But being a skinny thing when she was younger, her dad didn’t feel she would do well with the heavier sword and shield training.

So Eleanor taught her. Her mother, who knew the Meanas warren, who had a past that she would not speak of, who trained her daughter in the best and fastest ways to defend herself, and to take the life of those who threatened hers.

The skills were hard won, and they had indeed saved her life many times.

Her new attacker looked no older than a teenager, younger even than Elissa, and clumsy with his weapon. He brought his short sword down; Elissa blocked it, a little later on the defense given her shock; she trapped the boy’s wrist with her blade, pulled, twisted, and freed her arm to lash out.

She disengaged, hoping to avoid further conflict with him, but with a roar he came at her again, low with his own blade. She met his blow, crossing her wrists and capturing his own between sword and dagger. With a savage twist, she pulled him in closer; he lost his footing, and she swung down with her free hand.

There was no end. She thought of her brother Fergus, marching here, heading into the wilds with their small army. She thought of her father, fighting against Orlais. She thought of the Orlesians fighting him. Before that there were the wars between clans, and before that...and before that...and before that. She could see them all, soldiers marching through time, from one war to the next; it was how time was measured.

She dropped to the ground and took the boy in her arms, studying him through this strange haze. She felt that she knew him. This young man, this soldier who was proud to fight, though perhaps he did not know the cause.

She crawled to another of the soldiers, closing his eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun. To another. And another. She thought to learn their names. Perhaps she would take them, written in her skin, to the men who sent them here, and feed those names back to them, one cut at a time.

She heard a reverberating snort, and she turned.

Elissa had never thought of the gods, the ascendants, as beings. They were concepts, ideas, out of reach.

The boar was huge, its scale difficult to grasp. It stood higher than her, five tusks jutting from its maw. She saw her reflection in its eyes, and she was struck by the sense of weariness within them.

She reached out her hand, but he stepped away. She understood. His grief was not for her, but that of the soldiers she would carry to him.

Words began to spill out of her mouth, a language she did not speak but found she understood, fleetingly, long enough to give them to the god, who sat silently to listen.

* * *

Duncan had high hopes for the final recruit. The Joining was a difficult task, thus its rarity in the best of times.

He found himself in the forest of the Fall of Scabandari, the place where the Edur turned on the Andii after their battles against the Skykeeps of the K’Chain Nahruk. The history itself was lost; he knew the story only through the battle that waged on, the betrayer and the betrayed.

Fitting that the Cousland girl would find herself here.

It was quieter than usual, as he stepped through the path of the ravine. There was evidence of Elissa’s fighting style - small but devastating cuts. He followed the path with growing concern; the numbers here were staggering. He wondered how long she had been fighting. He wondered that he no longer heard it.

He began to suspect she would not be joining them after all. For a moment, he was filled with dread, with grief.

But that grief was taken from him when he entered the clearing.

Fener stood, looking down at the new recruit, and she was speaking to him in the language of those she had killed. She was battle worn; her face was streaked with tears, tears that still flowed, as she recited to the god.

The intention was plain to him.

Duncan, the Order, had found their Shield Anvil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forkrul Assail: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Forkrul_Assail
> 
> Just Wars: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Just_Wars
> 
> Scabandari: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Scara_Bandaris
> 
> Tiste Andii: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Tiste_Andii
> 
> Tiste Edur: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Tiste_Edur


	6. Betrayal at Ostagar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan returns with the Shield Anvil, something that the members of the Order have been waiting on for a long time. The revelation is well-timed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never understood how Cousland doesn't find Fergus. I even remember the second time playing a Cousland thinking that maybe I just had missed a mission somewhere in my first play through. So anyway. This chapter sort of answers that.

Alistair knew that a Joining could take a long while. Time worked differently with the warrens, after all, but he couldn’t stop the discomfort that grew with each passing moment that Duncan and the others did not return. He knew not to expect them all back. The older Wardens, those who had gone through the Joining and seen countless others do the same, made wagers on who might return.

They sat around the circle where the others had entered the realm of their god, and they seemed largely undisturbed. Alistair tried not to give away how anxious he felt.

But he was worried, and he found himself hoping ardently that the Cousland girl would make it back in one piece. He had liked her. She had a dry wit about her, and she had taken charge with definite ease while in the wilds.

The relief at seeing the small opening appear in the air was short-lived, when Duncan walked through, Cousland in tow, covered in blood.

She made a grim sight. It was as if she had just come out of the woods, leaves, grass, and what looked like tufts of hair sticking to her shoulders, where dark red, now turning brown, coated the armor there. Her face was streaked with what he hoped was mud, tear tracks evident against the grime. Her blades were still held in her hands, knuckles white.

The conversation of the other Wardens had stopped, as all eyes fell on her.

Duncan stepped forward, the gate closing behind him, “Brothers and Sisters of the Order, I present to you Sister Elissa,” he paused, and Alistair thought the entire world went silent before the Mortal Sword added, “Shield Anvil to Fener.”

A triumphant roar rose up through the ranks assembled. The Order had been without a Shield Anvil for some time, long enough that many of the young recruits, Alistair included, did not truly understand the relevance, the importance of the position. But those who had been waiting wore relief on their features. There were a few, a paltry number, that instead looked jealous, perhaps, most of them younger, newer recruits.

Alistair, swept up in the joy of the moment, whooped and hollered along with the rest. Cousland had made it; the others had not, but she had, and she was Shield Anvil.

Duncan leaned down, and Alistair only just caught the words, “You should speak to them.”

Cousland’s eyes focused then, turned to the Commander before scanning the faces before them, “I am Shield Anvil, and I will embrace you all.”

Another thundering roar of approval, someone in the back shouting that it was worth opening a cask. Duncan did not discourage it, but he did hold up a hand, “The Darkspawn may attack at any time. Celebrate, but be ever vigilant.”

“In peace, vigilance,” the whole of the company responded, and then they disbanded.

The Joining was done, the revels would begin.

Alistair stepped forward, “Elissa, congratulations. Are you...do you need anything?”

“A bath,” she muttered.

Duncan barked a short laugh and clapped the woman on the shoulder, “Of course! Alistair, would you mind showing her to the bathing area?”

Alistair nodded and indicated for her to follow, “Happy to. Follow me. It’s not far.”

She looked grateful. She gave a short bow to Duncan, “Sir,” and joined him on the walkway that would take them to the shared bathing tents.

Along the way she was saluted; some of the Wardens offered their hands, then seeing her own occupied, gripped her forearm. Some thanked her for her declaration. All acknowledged her, and with each she would stop and smile, give her thanks.

hen finally they arrived, she looked exhausted.

“Right in there,” he said, gesturing to one of the tents, “and I’ll make sure you have a moment.”

The look she cast his way was grateful before she disappeared through the flaps. Unsure what else to do, he waited nearby, not wanting her to come out of the tents to find herself abandoned.

He tried to imagine what she might be thinking - goes through with the Joining to become a Warden and comes out the Shield Anvil. He wasn’t entirely up-to-date what it meant, but he understood it had to do with the fallen of the Order. It sounded grim.

Beyond this quiet area, he could hear the revelry getting off to a raucous start, despite Duncan’s warnings. He didn’t blame them, though, given what was likely heading their way, creeping through the wilds in the dark, waiting for the right moment to strike. They all felt it. The mages were on edge.

His reverie was broken when Elissa reappeared. She was cleaner, now wearing only her leather pants and her undershirt, armor draped over one arm. He tried not to stare - how would that look, her just returning from Fener’s warren, covered in blood, and him staring?

It was just that the shirt was sleeveless and loose, low cut, giving him glimpses of the woman beyond the armor, and he was only a man, after all. Her blades were strapped again to her hips. She looked more at ease, as well, and that, more than anything else, was what mattered.

She looked out at the camp, and some of the tension returned.

“We can stay here a little longer, if you’d like.”

She dropped her leather coat and vambraces on a nearby bench and sat, “Do you know what this Shield Anvil business is about?”

He felt a blush in his cheeks, his own lack of knowledge now a source of embarrassment, “Not much, honestly. I only went through my Joining 6 months ago.”

“What did you see?”

He sighed and sat next to her, consciously leaving space between them, “These strange lizard creatures. There were some with short tails and some with long tails, and that seemed to be the cause of their strife.”

She huffed a short laugh, “It doesn’t take much, really, does it?”

“From what I understand, the Shield Anvil, along with the Mortal Sword - that’s Duncan - and the Destriant lead the Order. The Destriant understands the will of Fener. The Mortal Sword is his...well, his sword. And the Shield Anvil is ‘the repository for the fallen,’ though I don’t really understand what that means. What...what happened? In the warren?”

For a moment she looked uncomfortable, but after barely an instant she sighed, “I...fought. I don’t even remember how long or how many. But there came a moment. He was just...he was a boy, Alistair. Just a boy.”

She went silent for a long moment. He wasn’t sure what to do - touch her? Leave?

“And then I saw...Fener. Fener came, and he didn’t speak. He’s a boar, after all. But still, I understood. It was grief. All of this war, all of the pain - it must go somewhere. I suppose Hood isn’t so interested in that bit. And so Fener...I...am meant to embrace it, to send it to him, so that soldiers can be at peace.”

The enormity of that prospect left him speechless. Perhaps the topic was inappropriate, or too much, too soon, though she seemed calm enough. Handling it better than he would, most assuredly.

“Tell me about Duncan,” she said, either trying to distract herself or him, he wasn’t sure.

“Duncan is, well, he’s the Mortal Sword, and the Commander of the Order here in Ferelden. He recruited me from the temple at Lake Calenhad. I had been in training with the temple of Burn. He saw how unhappy I was, and he invoked the Reve to conscript me. He’s a good man. I owe him a lot. What about you, though? What do you think of him?”

She was quiet, and he thought perhaps she would say she did not care for the man. Some found his manner to be brusque or off-putting. He was direct. He was devoted, utterly, to the Reve, citing it in times that others may show indecisiveness.

“He seems...kind,” she said, finally, nodding to herself, “though firm.”

Alistair chuckled, thinking of some of the downright lashings he’d received from the man early on, “Fair enough.”

She gave him a strange look, almost apologetic, but before he could reassure her, she continued, “And this upcoming battle?”

Alistair crossed his arms and leaned back slightly, lending his weight to a piece of the fallen wall, “Well the king is excited, has us as part of the vanguard, but it’s Teyrn Loghain leading the strategic planning. Not to sound ungrateful. King Cailan hired us.”

“I understand,” Elissa offered.

Silence settled between them, and while she seemed content with it, he started to feel awkward, “You can...join them, if you wish.”

She gave him another unreadable look, then nodded, “Oh, yes. I suppose-“

“You don’t have to. I just meant-“

“You’re probably right.”

“Oh, yes, well, of course, you can-“

“Or I can stay, if-“

They both fell silent again, and it was now definitely mutually uncomfortable.

Elissa laughed, the sound light and airy, and he felt that discomfort dissipate, “Alternatively we can just speak over one another continuously, on end, until the world crumbles.”

He chuckled, lightly at first, but it became a fuller, richer laugh, the more he thought of the absolute absurdity of it all, “In my defense, I’m in the presence of one of the leaders of the Order.”

She made a grimace, though it was light-hearted, “Don’t remind me.”

After a moment, he realized how rude he’d been, “I apologize, but I never asked...where are you from?”

The look on her face made him regret the question, but she answered, “I...I am Elissa Cousland. Up until a week or so ago, I was the second child and only daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland, but they were killed, betrayed by Arl Howe on the eve before they were meant to join the king here.”

“Hood take me, I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have...sorry to have brought it up,” he apologized.

“You do not owe me an apology, Alistair. Thank you. For...talking. For not...I appreciate it. Actually,” she breathed, “my brother marched down the day before the attack. I had hoped to find him, but they were sent on a scouting mission in the wilds.”

Alistair grimaced. That did not bode well, and it seemed Elissa knew that.

“I hope to get leave to seek him out, now that the Joining is done. I know…I know that the battle will happen soon, but…”

He couldn’t imagine, “I’ll help. Let’s ask Duncan.”

The gratitude in her look was enough for him. He stood, offered his hand to help her. She grasped his wrist, and he tugged her up, “Let’s go find him.”

* * *

It had been nearly a week in the wilds. They had lost more than a handful of men to the ichor that the damned creatures bled alone. And they had learned almost nothing. The Darkspawn had numbers, and they were able to spread out. But each raiding party, anywhere from eight to twelve of the creatures at a time, would die to the last before they could capture any.

Fergus doubted the damned things could speak to them, even if they were able to capture one alive.

They had moved swiftly on the road; he pushed his men hard, knowing that the king would need the support sooner rather than later, and they arrived exhausted, only to be sent out the day after their march ended. It seemed questionable, but he was not about to argue with a man who was of equal rank to his father.

The wilds were aptly named. Boggy and hilly both, at any given moment they could run into an ambush. They were on double guard, and his men were tiring quickly. Having found nothing, he had called to return after day three, but they had gone deep into the uncharted wilderness, and even his best trackers were struggling in the terrain. Returning was slow work.

They avoided the high grasses and low brush by the wetter areas. At first they had seemed like good cover, but their first foray into similar areas had led to a terrifying flight to open space. They hadn’t been the only ones with the idea, and as they marched single-file through the high turf, it was clear that their were creatures nearby. A few men reported hearing breathing, the snorting, wheezing, foul breath of the Darkspawn coming from nearby. Then they started falling - there one moment, gone the next. Horrific sounds would follow. Bones breaking, shrieks, wet, gurgling cries.

The way back was at least marked with a path. It eased their travels, and it was far more forgiving for those who were injured, but it meant being out in the open.

Fergus had decided after day one that he would never return to this place, if he could help it. Damp, miserable, Hood could take the lot of it, for all he cared. And by day four, he started to suspect the purpose for sending them out here. It was clear that the Darkspawn were nearby, but they had so far been little more than scouting parties, and he suspected that if they were in the wilds, they were most likely to the East of Ostagar, not to the West, where they had been sent.

And no word had reached them with any updates. It was possible that it was simply beyond a messenger’s ability to navigate alone through the wilds, but nothing at all came for them. Even father had not sent word.

In truth, that more than anything had him concerned, though he kept it to himself.

When they were about a day out from Ostagar, things began to look familiar once more, and that was the first sense of relief any of them had had since their scouting orders had begun. The men’s spirits were noticeably higher, their pace somewhat quicker. He allowed the guard duty to return to normal, and he promised his men a warm meal and a rest when they returned, Hood take what the general might say. They cheered at that.

The morning was cool, as it always was this far South, as they began to break camp. The towers of Ostagar were now visible to them in the distance, sharp lines against the darkening sky. They would make it by late morning or midday to be sure, but it was treacherous to brave the uneven terrain with the light still dim with dawn.

He was at the fire with his officers, discussing what they thought their objectives might be once they returned, when the scout came to him, reporting two figures approaching from the Northeast.

“Darkspawn?”

“We don’t believe so, sir. They appear to be members of the Order of the Grey, from the armor.”

“And has anyone gone out to meet them?”

“No sir. We thought you might wish to come out to meet them, in case they have any news from the General.”

Fergus nodded, stood, “Excuse me. I’ll bring back a report, if there is anything. For now, let’s get the men moving.”

He followed his scout through their meager camp, making sure to greet each of his men, as he passed. Some of them had lost good friends, brothers, sisters, and he wanted them to know that he recognized all sacrifices, not just those of blood.

Beyond the camp, towards Ostagar, a second scout appeared, pointing to the path ahead, “There sir. The darkness hides them now, but there were two. One with shield, one with light armor.”

He nodded, “Shall we go out and meet them, then?”

“We sent Ox out there, sir. If they’re a threat, they won’t get past him.”

Another nod, and he settled in to wait for the mystery visitors, “Most likely they are messengers from Ostagar.”

He hoped. He knew he didn’t have to say anything further, knew that his men were as doubtful as he was. One thing he knew for a fact was that soldiers didn’t let wool cover their eyes. If they _had_ been sent out to the woods to be kept out of the way for some reason, sent on some fool’s errand, his men certainly sniffed it out. They also would not necessarily say as much in front of him.

Luckily they didn’t have to wait long. Ox, a man recruited from the forests near Highever who had built his strength chopping trees throughout his youth, approached, smiling and laughing, clapping one of the two mystery soldiers on the shoulder. That was a good sign.

It took only a few breaths before he realized what he was seeing. But why was Elissa here?

Worry twisted in his gut, warring with the joy at seeing his sister. The worry won out when she broke into a sprint upon seeing him, aiming directly for him. Something was wrong. That much was clear and confirmed when her arms slipped around his waist, decorum be damned, and buried her face in his shoulder.

“El? What is it? What’s happened?”

She was shaking. Elissa was a stoic woman, much like their mother. If she was demonstratively upset, things had gone wrong.

“Not here,” she sobbed against him.

At this point, the other soldier arrived. He was heavily armored, light brown or blonde hair cut short but not so short as Elissa’s, and he was definitely a mercenary from the Order of the Grey. The memory of Duncan swam to the forefront of his mind. Had Elissa run off to join the wardens?

He pulled away slightly from his sister, who was still clinging to him, “Alright. Ok. Let’s…there’s a scouting tent here. We’ll get it cleared out, and we can chat.”

He looked back to her companion, who offered a salute, “Sir. I’m Alistair.”

He nodded and gestured to the larger tent of those assembled. Ox, having heard the exchange, barreled ahead and barked orders to clear the scouts out. By the time they arrived, the tent was emptied, and Ox stood at the flap to ensure no one entered.

Elissa seemed recalcitrant to let him go, and he fought hard to keep his composure. Once they were alone, he gripped her shoulders, “El. What in Hood’s name is going on?”

She looked up at him and fresh tears welled in her eyes.

“If I may, sir?” the warden spoke, stepping forward.

He nodded, led Elissa to a stool and sat her down, “Please.”

Alistair wrung his hands, eyes flicking between Elissa, who still could not seem to gather herself, and himself, “It’s bad news, I’m afraid. Your family, sir. Elissa joined us from Highever, where Duncan recruited her, invoking the Reve.”

Fergus did not mean to be short, but all of this seemed rather obvious to him. His narrowed eyes had the nervous young man stumbling over his words, speeding up his explanation.

“In exchange for saving Elissa’s life. Unfortunately he was unable to bring anyone else along. It was a close call…”

Elissa hiccuped behind him, and he turned to her again, the pieces falling into place, “Howe,” she was able to croak, “his men arrived in the night. They killed everyone.”

He stumbled, the young man behind him catching him, “Oriana? Oren?”

Elissa’s tears fell freely once more, “I’m…sorry. Oh, gods,” she sobbed, pressing her hands over her face.

He would have fallen, if not for Alistair, who lowered him gently, “I…should go.”

“No,” Elissa pleaded from her stool, “No, please.”

A rushing sound was filling his ears, though, and he wasn’t sure how long he stayed on the ground, his anguish all encompassing. At some point Elissa joined him, arms wrapping around him and rocking him. He clung to her. It seemed she was all that was left.

He didn’t know how much time passed. He knew he would grieve for far longer, but awe began to overcome him as well. Elissa had been there. She had escaped, and she had made it here to tell him. She was alive. He hugged her fiercely, “Thank the Lady you escaped.”

“Yes,” she answered, calmer now, voice level once more, and he drew from that strength, “I did, but as Alistair said, in exchange the Reve was invoked. I’ve…I completed the Joining just this night past.”

He blinked at her. The Joining was reserved for Order members who had shown great skill and bravery. For a moment she wouldn’t meet his eyes, so he found himself looking to Alistair once more, who looked down but answered his unasked questions.

“Elissa Cousland is the Shield Anvil of Fener.”

There was a lot to take in. Too much. His family was gone. Elissa, having participated in the Joining, had effectively renounced all claims to their family titles and fortunes. He was the Teyrn now.

“And Howe?”

Elissa’s frown was something between a scowl and snarl, “He yet draws breath, but I’ll see to it that he pays, brother.”

Everything made sense now. His army had been sent to scout for a reason, then. Someone here, at Ostagar, had to be in league with Howe, and the plan was to finish them all off. He met Elissa’s eyes, and it was plain that she had the same understanding.

“I need to go back to Highever,” he muttered, rubbing his face.

She simply nodded to that. There was no other option. She could not return and reclaim their home. She was now bound to the Order, to Fener.

“So my little sister is the Shield Anvil of Fener?” he tried to sound jocular, but he was fooling no one. She yet lived, but she too had been taken from him, it seemed.

“I know,” she sighed, rolling back onto her feet, “Fergus…I…I should have…”

He shook his head, tugging her back against him once they were both standing, “You are not to blame. But we will find the one who is responsible.”

Elissa nodded fiercely, murder in her eyes, and Fergus wondered if she’d be better suited serving High House Death. He smiled at her, kissed her forehead, and swallowed back his tears. He could mourn for years to come. For now, he had a moment with his remaining family, and he had a duty.

They pulled apart, “I’ll head North, then. How shall I contact you?”

She frowned, “I don’t know. We expect the battle to begin soon. I had to bargain to come out here to meet you, as it was.”

He nodded, “We should get moving. We can speak on the way.”

Pushing back the images of his wife and son, he stepped to the tent flap, “We need to move out. Get everyone marching.”

“The tent, sir?”

He shook his head, “Leave it. We’re pressing hard for the North.”

Ox simply saluted, then paused, “Sir…”

“Not a word yet, please. I will let them know,” he managed to get out, and the soldier, someone he’d known for years bowed his head and turned to follow through on his orders.

Within the hour they were marching. Elissa told him of her harrowing escape, fighting through the castle with their mother, Ser Gilmore’s company sending them away. He knew she was glossing over parts of it. She didn’t mention how she knew about Oriana and Oren. She didn’t mention how they found father, only that he refused to leave, and that she and Duncan escaped through one of the old underground tunnels.

She also did not explain what happened during her Joining. It seemed that over the course of a week, two weeks, his sister had been stripped of whatever youth had remained to her, and now she was as battle-hardened as those with whom he had travelled South.

They marched for nearly two hours before they were close to the gates, and they had not yet discussed a real plan. Nor would they have the opportunity, it seemed.

The horns began to blow as if to announce their arrival, but that was not the case. Alistair and Elissa shared a glance, and their fates were decided in that moment.

“Be careful, sister,” Fergus said, pulling here into a fierce embrace.

“Be careful, brother. And get home,” she responded, kissing his cheek.

“I will be in touch. And we will come out of this, I promise.”

She nodded fiercely, then looked to Alistair once more. A silent conversation passed between them, and Fergus raised an eyebrow at that.

Elissa passed him one last look, a smile, “I’m glad I found you.”

And then she and Alistair were off, back to the gates, at a quick pace. He watched them for a time before turning to his officers.

“Alright. We have a home to retake. I would like to stay here and kill Darkspawn, but we’ve a greater enemy that has taken residence in our own lands. And we will not let that stand. Who’s with me?”

A roar came over the men assembled, and he couldn’t help the waves of gratitude. With that he signaled for the march, and they continued double time, the walls of Ostagar on their right and soon, the sounds of battle.

He did not allow himself to think of Elissa within those walls. She would be fine. She was stronger than him, and he knew she would make them proud. He would play his part, and she would be the dagger in the night that slit the throats of those who had betrayed them. That resolve alone kept him moving. He would grieve later, he reminded himself.

* * *

Thank Fener they had been close, Alistair kept thinking, as they sprinted through the gates, heaving breaths and heart hammering in his chest. He and Elissa had made it back in less than a half turn, and the troops were in motion, much of the camp already cleared out.

As if on cue, Duncan appeared, just as they approached the warden’s camp, “It’s time. The Darkspawn can be seen on the edge of the wilds.”

The two young wardens stood, and Elissa began donning her slightly cleaner armor once more, nodding grimly.

Duncan addressed the new Shield Anvil, “King Cailan is readying for the frontal assault, and Teyrn Loghain will take the larger force to flank. I need you and Alistair to go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit to signal that it is time for the Teyrn’s forces to join the battle.”

Alistair was confused for a moment, then angry, “Wait. So I won’t be in the battle?”

Duncan glanced at him, “It is by the king’s request, Alistair. That beacon must be lit.”

“So you need two wardens to hold the torch, then?” He sneered. He knew he was being belligerent, but he was seething - this couldn’t be happening. He had trained, had been recruited, for this, and Duncan was sending him away?

Elissa, perhaps seeing his distress, offered, strapping on one vambrace, “Do you really need two of us, Duncan? I’m sure I can handle it.”

“That is not your choice,” he replied calmly, and Alistair could see the way he pointedly did not look in his direction, “If King Cailan wants Grey Wardens there, then Grey Wardens will be there.”

Elissa arched an eyebrow at Duncan’s tone. Before she could say more in his defense, Alistair relented - he would get nowhere, he knew - “I get it. I get it. Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.”

He heard choked back laughter next to him before, in a syrupy tone that he’d give his right kneecap to hear again, came, “I think I’d like to see that.”

The tingle in his neck had him turning, and he defaulted to a dry response, lest he fall to his knees before her, “For you, _maybe_. But it would have to be a pretty dress.”

Duncan pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, “The tower is near the entrance. You’ll need to get through the gate and up the stairs to enter. From the top, you’ll be able to see the battle and, more importantly, the signal. When you see it, light the beacon.”

Elissa had donned her armor once more, supple leather that made her blend into the dim light of the evening. She nodded, “Until after, then.”

Duncan paused, looking at them both, before saluting, “In war, victory.”

“In peace, vigilance,” Alistair responded immediately.

“In death,” Elissa added, her voice ragged, as if already in grief, “sacrifice.”

A chill swept over Alistair at her words, but he thought nothing of it, returning his commander’s salute. Duncan turned, then, and made his way back to the company, to join the king in the vanguard.

Standing still was not an option; he would only sink further into regret at not being with his brothers and sisters. Elissa seemed to have the same feeling, as she turned immediately and started to the tower, “It’s unlikely the path will be clear, if the main force was spotted already at the edge of the wilds.”

He hadn’t thought of that, but it was a valid point.

“How do you want to use me, then?”

Her words jarred him, and he nearly stumbled. She means in the battle, you fool, he thought viciously to himself, “Fast,” he said, “get in, puncture their armor, and get out.”

“Right,” she nodded, a grin on her features evidence enough that she had meant the line to confuse him.

The pair made their way through the empty camp, hauntingly silent after the hustle and bustle of the past few weeks. He followed behind the Shield Anvil, who seemed to melt into shadows.

Initially they met no resistance, but as they neared the bridge they would need to cross to get through the gates, the sounds of fighting reached them. Men shouting, the sharp ringing of metal against metal, and with it the foul smell of decay, of rotting ice, that followed the Darkspawn.

“I’m going to rush ahead, Alistair, and do what we talked about it.”

“Of course,” he muttered, and then she was moving.

Alistair had seen her fight in the wilds, peripherally, a blur between shapes and shadows. He had been lucky to pull her away from the Darkspawn that would have bled into her face, but seeing her now was like watching a dance.

She bounced on her feet, sliding between two of the soldiers when they left an opening for the blink of an eye, then was behind the creatures, going low and slicing through the tendons of their legs. One buckled. The other turned, snarled, and she returned the gesture with a dagger point through its chin, spinning away to avoid the spray of blood.

The way she moved, elegant and efficient, had him briefly in awe.

But she was also vulnerable, her armor not as heavy as his own, her whirling attacks leaving her open to her enemy’s. He moved in, raised his shield to block a blow to her left flank, and parried the next one. She gave him a fleeting smile in response, and the two fell into a sort of battle rhythm, with her setting the tempo the whole way.

It was a small force, overall, and they dispatched them quickly. The few soldiers left agreed to accompany them to the tower. On the other side of the gate they found more of the damned creatures, and another skirmish began.

He stayed to Elissa’s left, slightly behind, allowing her room to maneuver, as well as the option to drop down behind him and the relative safety of his shield arm. She would strike from behind, whirl around it to drag blade across tough hide, and end up back on his right in a matter of heartbeats.

By the time they arrived at the tower itself, they were both of them tired. Alistair didn’t know how she was still standing, having just endured the Joining, the emotional reunion with her brother, and then near sprinting back to camp, and now to be back in battle. But she continued on, heaving the doors of the tower open to expose a darkened interior. The tower had stored grains and dried foodstuffs previously but was now empty. It was silent; their footfalls, even Elissa’s controlled ones, echoed over the stone.

Alistair looked up from the center of the room, dizzy with the height - the rooms themselves circled the central chamber up to a point, so that he could see almost to the very top of the structure from where he stood, though it was cast in darkness.

Elissa was trying doors, finding them mostly locked. He was halfway to offering to break down a door when she pulled a ring of tools from her belt and slid one into the lock. He watched, dumbfounded, as she picked the lock of the door, and it swung open.

She looked up from her work to give him a grin, and he felt that tingle in his neck again. He bit back the urge to rub at that feeling.

They continued up the stairs, winding around and unlocking doors as needed. The darkness made time seem to stand still. The thick stone walls drowned out sound from outside. He had no idea what was happening on the battlefield, a realization that struck him bitterly.

Finally they broke through the last door and onto the roof of the tower. In the light of the moon, he could see that Elissa had grown pale, her hands not as steady, as she stared into the distance.

The battle was raging, from here so minuscule as to seem unimportant. Tiny lights danced over the terrain, and then they were gone.

Except that one was rising into the sky, bright blue; it erupted for an instant and then was gone.

“That’s it. That’s the signal. Elissa, light the beacon.”

She scrambled to her feet, sluggish now, fumbling with the flint and steel. She struck the tinder, though, and the fire grew, the signal for the Teyrn to ride in on the flank.

“Here they come,” Alistair said excitedly, hoping that with this task done, they could join the other Wardens, “this was the Teyrn’s plan. I can’t imagine it won’t work.”

The seconds ticked by. No horns sounded. Elissa stepped up next to him. He scanned the area where the Teyrn’s troops had readied. They were not moving. He looked back at the beacon - it was lit. There could be no mistaking that they had been signaled.

“They’re not…” he trailed off, confusion descending swiftly into something else much worse.

And then they did move - as one unit, they turned, about-face, and began marching North. Alistair shouted, cried out hoarsely. No. No no no. This was...this was betrayal. Of the highest order. Did none of the soldiers care what was happening below?

Elissa Cousland, the Shield Anvil, said nothing. Her eyes were glued to the battle still raging, the tiny lights going out more swiftly. Another flare of light, another signal.

Elissa’s arms opened wide, as if to welcome an embrace. The light of the flames caressed her cheeks, and Alistair saw, with growing horror, that they were covered in tears.

“I...I am...I embrace…”

She stumbled, and Alistair barely grabbed her in time, pulling her away from the edge. Her arms remained open, “I accept,” she was whimpering, “your burden.”

His eyes flicked between the two nightmares before him. Elissa seemed close to fainting. The battle, no longer a battle, was still going. He imagined, for a moment, that he could see Duncan. He would be waiting, looking for the relief of the oncoming charge. He would be defending the king, trying to pull him to safety.

The lights were going out, and he was powerless to stop it.

Time stretched infinite, yet there was not enough. He knew that his presence would do nothing to turn the tide. They had all of them been betrayed.

“That _bastard_,” he fumed, turning to Elissa to share his rage.

Her eyes were unfocused, her arms still open. She fell back.

Had he not turned in that moment, he would not have been able to catch her. But he did, lowering he gently. Her lips were moving, her eyes scanning some unseen thing, but it was clear that she was not conscious.

And it was then that a roar, rumbling and bone deep, shook the tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Itkovian, Shield Anvil of Fener: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Itkovian


	7. North Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa wakes in the home of Flemeth, having been nursed to health by the Witch of the Wilds. She and Alistair determine their next steps, and Morrigan joins their party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep. Roads. I have rewritten like three chapters of it now? It’s just ridiculous. And I figured it was silly not to post was IS written just because I’m struggling with later chapters.

To say that Elissa felt hungover would have been woefully inaccurate. In fact, Elissa thought for a moment that she was dead or had died and was now clawing her way, in fits and starts, back to life. For a fleeting instant, she thought to lay back down and cease the crawling, but her body was stubborn, her spirit perhaps more so, and the lure of vengeance was strong.

Elissa was twice now betrayed, in as many weeks.

A voice, lilting and just on the side of mocking, came from across the room, “Ah, your eyes open. Mother will be pleased.”

The young woman who had found them in the wilds. What was her name?

“I remember you,” Elissa started, halting at her fuzzy memory.

“My name is Morrigan, lest you have forgotten, and you are in the wilds. Do you...not remember?”

Images flashed in her mind, bright and painful, and she squeezed her eyes shut, as she sat up, shaking her head slightly, “The...tower.”

Morrigan looked almost concerned, “Mother managed to save you and your friend, but it was close. The man who was meant to respond to your signal...quit the field. The Darkspawn won your battle.”

If she couldn’t picture it exactly, the bile in her throat was a close enough reminder.

“Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend is not taking it well.”

Neither was she, truth be told.

“Alistair,” Elissa said. It was not meant to be a question, and Morrigan seemed to not take it as such, though she nodded.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Morrigan.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she seemed ill at ease, “I...you’re welcome. Though ‘twas mostly mother’s work. I am no healer.”

“So no other survivors? None at all?”

“There were some stragglers, but they are gone now. You would not wish to see what is happening in that valley now.”

Elissa could imagine it well enough, though. She had been inside Fener’s warren; she knew, deep in her bones now, that war looked the same, no matter the skin of those fighting, the weapons they used, or the location.

“I think perhaps you should speak to mother now, and then be on your way.”

The thought of moving, much less traveling, made Elissa nearly recoil, but it wasn’t as though she had a choice. If Alistair was alive, perhaps the two of them could rejoin with the other Wardens and bring Teyrn Loghain to justice. But no...Morrigan had just said they were gone. King Cailan, as well, then, she suspected.

She knew.

She had embraced his pain and rendered it to Fener. All of them. She nodded to Morrigan, reaching for her clothing and armor, noting with some surprise that it had been cleaned. Every muscle, every joint, even her skin hurt, but she grit her teeth through it. She was not yet done.

Despite the shade of the woods, Elissa found she had to squint in the daylight when she emerged from the small cabin.

“Ah, there, you see, yes? The other Grey Warden.”

It was Morrigan’s mother speaking. When her eyes adjusted, Alistair was stepping closer to her, stopping short, as if remembering himself, “You,” he croaked, voice hoarse with disbelief and perhaps relief, “you’re alive. I thought for sure…”

She flexed her hands by her sides and offered a tight smile, “Been better, but I am alive.”

“Thanks to Morrigan’s mother. If she hadn’t come for us on the tower, then we’d both be dead.”

“I’m standing right here, boy,” the woman chided, “do not speak of me as if I am not.”

The blush on Alistair’s face was charming, and in different circumstances, Elissa would have tried to foster more, “I’m sorry. I just...we never got your name.”

The woman laughed, “Names are such pretty things, ultimately useless.”

“Then what shall we call you?”

“The Chasind folk call me Flemeth, so I suppose you can just use the same.”

“Flemeth? So Daveth was right. You are the Witch of the Wilds. The Soletaken.”

Another laugh. Elissa had no room in her to be surprised. She only needed answers and to be on her way, though one point was still unclear, “Why _did_ you save us?”

“Well,” she drawled picking at some unseen thing in her gray shawl, “it wouldn’t do to have all of the Grey Wardens die. We still have a blight on our hands; someone has to kill the Darkspawn, and the Order has historically gathered and united the forces to do so.”

It was a reasonable enough answer; Elissa didn’t believe it, but she wouldn’t press the matter.

“Unless that has changed?”

“The lands are hardly united, given Loghain’s treachery,” she pointed out; it came out more bitter than intended.

“We _were_ united. The king was fighting the Darkspawn; we had almost won. Why would Loghain do this?”

“That is the question, lad. Men’s hearts hold darkness that cannot be fathomed. Who knows what led to his betrayal?” She answered Alistair, but her eyes were on Elissa.

Elissa could think of many reasons, most of them housed in Denerim, most likely in vaults. One was quite possibly running things as they spoke in the wilds beyond what was considered civilized lands.

“Perhaps he believes that this is an army he can out maneuver. Perhaps he does not understand the true threat.”

Elissa didn’t think she understood it. Omtose Phellack was the identified culprit, but how could that be? What about the ancient warren of the Jaghut made it dangerous? How was it capable of corrupting the other warrens, of whatever creatures they had been fighting?

“Just what _is_ the threat? It cannot be so obvious.”

Flemeth laughed again; it was a rich sound, rolling almost like a purr, and Elissa wondered what sort of Soletaken the woman might be, “Indeed it is so obvious, but not in the way you think.”

“Long ago,” she started, turning away from them for a moment, gazing into the distance, “a god fell.”

* * *

The falling, even the landing that left the god broken, was not as bad as being ripped from the others, its fellow gods, trapped in a rift of something else’s making, and then descending to a strange land.

The god believed others may have followed, may have also fell. The others may have survived, but most likely they did not.

The god’s body was broken, and so the god lashed out; the god did what gods do.

And for that it drew the attention of other, foreign gods, gods not the jade giants that it knew, but smaller, many colors and shapes.

These gods were the ones that chained the heart.

There was a being of light. There was a being of dark. There was one that wielded a hammer. There was a beast with tusks and one who followed it.

Some of them died for their attempt, but it was ultimately successful, and the god was chained - fallen, broken, chained.

It forgot what it was, and it became pain.

* * *

“Osserc, Anomander Rake, Cottilion, Caladan Brood, Queen of Dreams, even Fener,” Flemeth said this last name with a knowing look to Elissa, “and his mortal sword were in attendance, along with others. They chained the god, and he now poisons the very warrens.”

Elissa’s eyes narrowed, but Alistair seemed confused, “Who are all of these people then?”

“Osserc, lad, the Lord of Light. Anomander Rake, of High House Dark. Truly, do you learn so little in the Temple of Burn?”

Unwilling to listen to any further argument, Elissa spoke before her brother warden could counter, “And this is the source of the blight?”

“Think about it, girl,” Flemeth continued, “how could Omtose Phellack corrupt? It is only a warren, a hold, like the other holds of old. It can no more corrupt a being than can Kurald Galain. It is a source of power, nothing more.”

“How would it corrupt these Darkspawn? What were they before?”

Flemeth shrugged, “Does it matter? Some race now forever altered. But no, I do not believe the Chained One corrupted them all. They are controlled by another force.”

Alistair groaned, “How many forces, exactly, are we talking about here? It’s not enough that we fight Darkspawn? We must now fight a god?”

For whatever his faults, he seemed to be able to make Flemeth laugh, as she responded, “Is that so hard a thing, boy? No, I do not think you need to fight the god. But you must find its servant.”

“An Eleint, most likely,” came the more melodious voice of Morrigan from behind them. Of course she had been listening.

“A dragon?” Alistair’s voice was flat, unbelieving, as if the past twenty minutes hadn’t been a story about the ascendants and gods of old chaining some being that fell from the sky and now corrupted the warrens.

“They are powerful enough to control the minds of some lesser creatures,” Morrigan explained.

“The stories of the Order cite that the last Blight was led by a Jaghut. The Mortal Sword of Fener, Carinus, along with the Destriant, finally defeated the Tyrant. Carinus died in the battle.”

“This one is different.”

“You speak as if you were there. The Order-“

“What does it matter? Eleint, Jaghut, or god? We must stop the corruption, stop the Darkspawn, and we must bring Teyrn Loghain to justice. There is no one else to do it. Those who would speak against the Teyrn are dead, except for us.”

“Perhaps not all,” Alistair corrected, “Arl Eamon, of Redcliffe, was unable to join the battle. He is a good man; I know him well. He will listen.”

“Then we go to Redcliffe.”

She didn’t imagine the way Alistair stood a bit straighter.

“That’s not all you’ll need,” Flemeth reminded her, “as the Teyrn, and the Darkspawn, have forces larger than a single Arl. But you have tools at your disposal.”

“The sword,” Alistair murmured, looking back to where the wrapped bundle was tucked into his pack.

“And potential allies elsewhere in the world, if you’ve a mind to look. The lands of Ferelden do not all bend the knee.”

Alistair bristled at the statement, but this was a time for practicality, “Flemeth, I thank you. You did not have to save our lives, but you did. How can I repay you?”

The older woman looked to the side, “Well you can do so now. The two of you will need a guide in the woods; Morrigan will join you.”

“I - what?”

“It is time girl.”

“Morrigan is welcome, if she wishes to join.”

Morrigan looked about to argue, but her mother’s face was stone, “Very well. Allow me a moment to collect my things.”

There was no tearful goodbye between the two women. Flemeth did not even see them off. She bid farewell and returned to her cabin. Morrigan lifted her chin, “This way.”

The path seemed relatively familiar to Elissa, though she was sure she would be unable to navigate, even having done this once before. Morrigan had no trouble, wandering around obstacles on the barely-there path, as if she could do so in her sleep.

“I suggest we stop at Lothering, a small village North of here, before heading on. It is insignificant, but it should have any supplies you need. Unless you would rather I simply guide you along in silence.”

The tone was churlish; Elissa ignored it, but Alistair rose to the bait, “That’s not a bad idea.”

“I’d have you speak your mind,” Elissa corrected.

“Well that is a change,” she mused.

“Lothering is as good a stop as any,” she continued, “and we can see what the lay of the land is. I suspect that Loghain has not simply returned to Denerim. There would be questions - how is he answering them?”

Alistair grunted, “Surely no one would believe him.”

“He is a decorated commander, and he is the father of the Queen. Who would question whatever tale he has spun about what happened?”

Alistair fell quiet at that.

“Morrigan, is this what you wanted?” She asked, quickening her pace to speak softly to the woman, not wishing to start another verbal brawl between her companions.

The woman sighed, “I...want to see mountains. I want to view the ocean and step in it. I want to experience a city, not simply watch from the outside. I have wanted this, but leaving is...difficult.”

“I understand. I am pleased you have joined us.”

Elissa didn’t think she imagined the small smile on the woman’s face at her words.

* * *

The trio made camp north of the wilds, carving a trail far around Ostagar and looping back toward Lothering.

Elissa would have preferred to go longer, but she was not up to full energy yet, and she didn’t want to push herself, given all that loomed ahead of them.

Morrigan set her tent far from the fire and bid them an early goodnight.

“Are you alright?” Alistair’s voice drifted from across the fire, startling Elissa from her thoughts.

She nodded, “Yes, I...I am tired. And. The grief, it was….”

She trailed off, seeing the look on his face. He was grieving himself. He had been in the Order long enough to know people, to have made friends, to truly call the others brothers and sisters. He had been close to Duncan.

“Alistair,” she started, taking a steadying breath, “I am sorry. I know you would have liked to be with Duncan.”

The name made him very nearly wince, and he looked away, “He was a good man. I...it’s...I would have died, too. I know that.”

_But would that have been so bad_ she heard, unspoken, the words floating like a curse or a threat between them.

“I am glad you did not,” she whispered.

“I’d like to...do something. His body. Their bodies. They...they deserve something.”

She reached out her hand to touch his but aborted the movement halfway - perhaps he did not wish to be touched, “We will see to it.”

He nodded.

“I hope, I mean, are you meant to be leading us? I realize that back there, I sort of barreled on ahead. I’ve been told that’s a character trait of mine. Sometimes with a laugh. Often times with a frown.”

He chuckled, and the sound warmed her a bit, “It’s a relief. I am not meant to lead, I know that.”

She mirrored his earlier nod, “Ok. Good. I mean. Good that I didn’t overstep.”

They slid into silence for a time. She watched the flames dance, or more accurately, she watched the shadows, a habit learned from her time training. She imagined following them, twisting and twirling, contorting herself to stay within them, and then she imagined twisting and twirling and contorting the shadows themselves to stay with her.

She was surprised again when he spoke, “What...was it like?”

She knew what he meant. She drew her knees to her chest, wondering how much to tell him. She did not wish to burden him, after all it was her place, she now understood, to carry those burdens herself.

“It is, for a moment, like being that person. I feel their pain, their surprise, their loss. Their grief. It is fleeting, but it is complete. And then it passes, and Fener takes it. I can feel them, and then I can feel him.”

He was staring, and she felt like a creature in a cage for a moment, but she tried to ignore that feeling.

“You have been in his warren. You have seen the soldiers, the battles. So you see where they land, what they become. You know where they are.”

“Where Duncan is.”

“Yes and no,” she continued. How could she explain? She didn’t know, but somehow she did know.

“It’s as if the soldier is stripped - the grief, the pain that is taking another life, whether we feel it truly in the moment or not, all of it is taken. But the person goes to Hood. What you would find of Duncan in the warren would not be Duncan; it would be the commander.”

Alistair shifted, coming closer, and she held her breath for a second, though she wasn’t sure why. She knew this was not an intimate gesture. But she felt bereft, lonely in a way she never had, and for the briefest instant, she imagined him in a different circumstance.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

She could only smile at him, a watery, feeble smile, which he returned, and in that moment, she was not alone; they were together, sharing all that they had lived, somehow, miraculously.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

He looked away, color rising to his cheeks, and she cleared her throat, “I am going to go to bed. If that’s alright. You can wake me for second watch?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Goodnight, Alistair.”

“Goodnight, Elissa.”

* * *

The barking was that of a Mabari; Alistair knew it without seeing the creature. There had been plenty of them with the Order. Panic filled him. If one was here, on the road, it had to be tainted by now. He had seen it happen with others; they would bite a Darkspawn creature, go mad within days, and eventually die. With grim determination he readied his sword, standing and making his way to Elissa.

He knelt beside where she was sleeping, more peaceful now than when she had first drifted off, and he felt guilty for waking her, “Elissa. Something is coming.”

Her eyes snapped opened at his words, and he found himself staring into focused, intent green eyes. He damn near choked on his next words, waving vaguely in the direction of the barking to buy himself time, “Mabari. It’s possible they have been corrupted.”

Her lips thinned, and she nodded, sliding a hand under her makeshift pillow to pull out a dagger. She rolled to her feet, barely making a sound.

He didn’t care for leading, but he wasn’t a green recruit either. He kicked dirt over the fire to extinguish the flame.

The bark came again, closer.

Elissa nodded to him - she had heard it, too. He settled his weight, shield ready but held down to keep his arm fresh when it was time. It was dark of course, but the moon was full and cast enough pale, silver light, that he could make out the camp.

The bark, louder, more frantic, and this time at the sound, Elissa stood up, ramrod straight and walked toward the sound.

He hissed at her. What was she _doing?_

She still held her dagger, but it was lowered, as if she was unsure of its use. He thought he could see a shape now, lumbering, bigger than any of the Mabari he’d seen before. But still she did not raise her dagger. He wondered now, lowering his own defense to approach, to make sure she was ok.

Another bark, and the creature sprang.

Elissa shouted. Alistair cursed himself. He had let his guard down, when she needed him to be alert, not trying to discern her own actions. She was tired, of course.

But it wasn’t a shout of pain, he realized after a moment. She was laughing, now, a Mabari that had to stand close to his hips in her arms, legs splayed on either side of her, tongue lapping at the woman’s face with abandon.

“Rood!” She cried, “You’re alive! You found me.”

Joy - the first he’d heard in what felt like decades - dripped from her words. She put the dog down and knelt beside it, ruffling its ears, burying her nose in its neck, whispering to it in awed wonder.

“So...you know each other, then?”

Elissa laughed again, looking up through tear-filled eyes.

The activity had woken Morrigan at that point, who seemed to appear from the mist beside him, a hint of spice on the wind.

“Alistair, Morrigan, this is Rood,” Elissa beamed, still doting on the giant hound, “he’s found me all this way from home. I thought…” she trailed off, never finished the sentence.

“Well, I’m going back to bed,” the witch beside him muttered in a bored tone. If he didn’t know better, though, he’d say she sounded amused, perhaps even happy at the joyful reunion occurring in the camp.

The hour was tugging on him now, and her shift had been set to start soon enough, “Safe to assume, then, that you’re ok to watch now?”

Elissa nodded up at him, smile wide, “Get some sleep. We’re safe now.”


	8. Lothering Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa, Alistair, and Morrigan make it to Lothering, where they meet a strange sister at the Temple of Burn who is more than she seems to be. They work together on a plan to evacuate the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wanted a way to get the people in Lothering to safety, so this is my answer to that. I broke it up into 2 parts to make it a more digestible. I am still not sure how many chapters this is going to end up being...I just got 26 started, with plans for maybe 5 more after? Who even am I?

The rumors of a Blight started early in Lothering, given its close proximity to the Wilds. A child had arrived at the Temple, clothes tattered, eyes wild, screaming for its mother. One of the older Sisters managed to calm her down enough to learn that they had been hunting mushrooms to the South when a creature smelling of a swamp, with sharp teeth and sharper claws, had emerged from the trees and started to rip into them.

In her final breaths, Mother had told her to run, to warn someone.

The girl had done so, tears streaming down her face, heedless of tugs on the fabric of her clothes. One of those snags had been a Darkspawn claw. The corruption took hold of her that night. And in that way, the truth of things had been confirmed.

Leliana had sensed the corruption before, like a strange song on the wind, a faint odor that would sometimes be carried on the breeze from the South. It became a preoccupation; it was a drum that beat a steady rhythm at the back of her mind, its tempo increasing as time went on. She had hoped to prepare - herself and the small town of Lothering - before the song of it became too loud.

Soldiers started to pass through, grim-faced, determined, or sometimes smug. It was easy enough to tell who had seen battle before. The king himself had even been among them, greeting the people of Lothering with a jovial, can-do spirit, acting as though they had already won. Perhaps he did not hear how loud the song had become. To Leliana, it meant her time to prepare was nearly spent.

She had her own acolytes, the children of the streets, the orphans and waifs, and they were put to work. There would need to be an escape route, something hidden and secret, a back door that could be opened quickly and quietly. Barring that a secure place; people thought they would be safe in their homes, but that was a fool’s belief. Leliana could demonstrate firsthand how little protection a home offered.

As more soldiers poured through, some families did see fit to leave - those who had family elsewhere. Others put their faith and lives in the hands of those marching through and so stayed, determined to be there when the soldiers returned victorious.

Leliana stopped reading the Fatid; there was no sense to them anymore. Perhaps if she had, she would have been ready for the aftermath. It came much more quickly than she had anticipated. She went to sleep to the sound of drums and woke to a bellowing roar.

Refugees began pouring in, a camp going up just beyond the temple. And then they stopped.

People knew that temples employed guards - templars, they were often called. They felt safe. But the numbers in Lothering were middling at best, their stock selected from those unwilling to till the fields or, more accurate, willing to bully the weak. Leliana found she despised most of them, with the few exceptions being those who had come from other places.

She sent her spies away - her Ravens, she called them. They were too young for what was coming. Her actual ravens she kept, smart birds that she often used to send messages to her contacts in other places. She allowed them to leave the small rookery she kept, however, so if the worst came to pass, they would not die in gilded cages.

Without her small army of street urchins, she was left to her own devices to convince the temple and those surrounding it that it was time to leave. It was a losing battle.

This was how she allowed the Order to find her.

* * *

Morrigan did not care for Alistair. She made no attempts to hide her disdain. He was dreadfully dull, a stellar example for the Common Man, with little knowledge of warrens or holds and the complexities of the world, much less the more ancient powers that still tugged on the strings around them. Happily oblivious. And disgustingly besotted with the other one, Elissa.

She however piqued Morrigan’s interest. Cousland, a name that apparently held some weight beyond the wilds, she had given as a surname previously to others. It meant nothing at all to Morrigan, and Elissa seemed to appreciate that. And of course having joined the Order of the Grey, she had given up all claims to any title she might have had. She was a quiet young woman, and kind, which at times rankled her own more pragmatic sensibilities.

Though when that kindness was bestowed upon her, she found the sharpness of her own tongue dulled. 

Despite the apparent softness, there seemed to be another side to this sister of the Order. While she herself seemed to radiate some sort of light or balm, her shadow lashed out, cut deep. Morrigan wanted to understand, as she sought to understand all such things. Curiosity, her mother had always said, was a dangerous thing, but she was traveling with a truly strange, dichotomous companion.

Regardless of her feelings toward either of them, she led them through the wilds, giving Ostagar a wide berth. She was cold but not callous and had no desire to see what was happening to the remains of the soldiers there. While it delayed their journey somewhat, it was best for them all. Her mother had seen, when she retrieved the two warriors from the tower, and she had said that it was indeed a gruesome sight. Flemeth was old, ancient even, and if she said that it was horrific, then Morrigan trusted that it was.

“They are not there,” Elissa had said, when she mentioned the plan, “but I appreciate your consideration, Morrigan.”

The words became more clear two nights later, when Alistair, bumbling and awkward as always, asked her about her post as Shield Anvil. Perhaps his inability to shut his own mouth had perks; the look Elissa gave was scolding but not harsh - after all, the woman probably (and rightly) assumed that her secret would leak out eventually.

“An old title,” Morrigan explained, not bothering to pretend she had heard nothing, “T’orrud Segul in the first tongue.”

That had been the final clue, the source of one of her two sides, and the calming effect she had on those grieving. In truth, the prospect of it made Morrigan a bit giddy. Things of this nature she understood; the warrens, young and brash, still confused her, though that was more a product of her mother than anything. The title did not explain the strangeness of her shadow; she had felt the woman latch onto Meanas, a warren of shadow that paled in comparison to the ancient hold, but it was accessible. 

They arrived in Lothering in two days’ time - enough for her to not only discover Elissa’s not-so-guarded secret, but to hear whispers from the spirits of other potential truths that lingered in the group. These she kept to herself, as it was not her place to interfere in these matters.

Lothering itself had changed from the few times she had visited the small town, unsurprisingly, a mass of humanity now swelling at its edges to the point of bursting. Far more people than Morrigan had ever encountered in her life, and she found herself holding her breath, as if she were diving into water and may drown.

“Let us complete our business quickly,” she pleaded, though it left her as a snapped demand, to which Elissa’s only response was a calm, somehow reassuring hand on her shoulder and a nod.

* * *

Elissa could practically feel the Darkspawn on their heels, and she was very nearly enraged when the sight they found at Lothering was not a mostly deserted town, or one preparing to flee, but a camp of people all pressing in and clinging to the meager walls of a temple that may have been as old as the ruins from which they had just fled.

She bit back her disgust in light of their clear desperation; there were families here. They needed to move, to leave, to keep going, but fear had them rooted to the spot. Fear would not press them to leave, only hope could do that now.

“Does it look like they’re settling in?” she asked, wondering if perhaps she was misreading the situation.

Alistair scanned the crowd before them, a hodgepodge of tents, lean-tos, and carts, all filled to bursting and stuffed within a small, fenced-in area. He frowned, shook his head.

But Elissa did not see the gesture, instead now focused on and staring at the jobs board outside the temple, where a prominent sign declared all wardens of the Order of the Grey traitors to the King of Ferelden. Swallowing a gasp, she tugged Alistair roughly around, putting a finger to her lips to silence him when he read the notice. His eyes narrowed, and she realized that she had never actually seen this man angry. She thought that it might be rather frightening. Or exciting, so long as she was not on the receiving end.

Keeping her voice low, she still looked about to ensure she wasn’t overheard, “We need to stay low. Don’t draw attention to yourself. No outward signs. We’ll need to address our armor.”

She gestured to the griffon emblazoned on their chests, and they both grimaced.

“I can’t believe this,” he growled.

“We will deal with it Alistair, but we can’t right now. Right now we have to get these people out of here, and we need to plan. Loghain will not get away with this.”

He nodded after a moment and straightened. Elissa only then noticed how close he had been, leaning down to speak with her. Warmth flooded her belly for a moment at the nearness of him, and she chided herself for her impropriety. There were larger concerns here. Getting a crush on the only other remaining warden was not going to help matters at all.

“And to think, I thought I would be the unwelcome one,” Morrigan’s supplied with a low chuckle.

A flash of anger, of bitterness and spite took Elissa for a moment. Perhaps they should simply move on - get out now and leave these people to their fate. But they were not the ones who put up the signs, or rather decreed it. They were just wanting to get out of harm’s way.

The weight settled uncomfortably - they needed supplies, had refugees that may need convincing to leave, and they would need to find some way to go unnoticed as members of the Order.

“I had hoped to split up - divide and conquer. But...Hood’s balls, that apparently isn’t an option, so let’s get what we need as quickly and quietly as we can. You and I will need to go back a ways and change our armor.”

Hesitant now to too strongly assert their position, she felt overwhelmed for the first time. This had fallen on her shoulders, the foundation laid just before it crumbled. She could cite the Reve, but she had lived within its confines for less than a day before disaster struck. In the span of a month, two families had been taken from her. She thought of Fergus, of their remaining forces marching North. Had they come through here? Were they having to keep a low profile, too? She hoped he had made it back safely, that things back home would start to mend.

Something must have flickered over her face because Alistair leaned down once more, “Are you alright?”

She cast a grateful glance at him, “I just…” she sighed, breathed out her frustration, “I hope this goes smoothly.”

* * *

Alistair watched the way Elissa’s shoulder shifted, as if adjusting a shield strapped to her back, as they ducked into a sort of alley to change armor. He supposed that was an appropriate enough analogy, given her new title and all that had been put upon her. He doubted she had fully recovered yet from what had happened at Ostagar, and here she was taking on the effort of clearing refugees from a village.

He didn’t understand the mechanics, wasn’t sure how even the role was filled, but he understood enough to know that, as Shield Anvil, she had embraced them all in their final moments. He had watched it happen, saw anguish and pain on her features, though her eyes were unfocused. She had collapsed from the overwhelming force of it, and had he not been there to catch her, she may have fallen from the tower itself, leaving him the very last of the Order in Ferelden.

That thought seized him, filled him with fear and an unfathomable sadness. He had lost all of them, but she was here. Elissa had survived with him; Elissa was still here, and the thought of her not being there was too much to bear, so he focused on the task at hand, “Perhaps we should start at the temple. There is a chance they know more about this.”

She nodded and started toward the stone building that dominated the center of the small town. It was, as many temples this far South, a Temple to Burn, the Sleeping Goddess. Most of the acolytes within would be women, and as with many other Temples in Thedas, the Sisters were accompanied by members of the Thousand Sects of D’rek, trained in martial arts and sent out to provide protection to temples around the land, should they be unable to train their own disciples.

He wondered if the priests and priestesses had felt the same sickness in the warrens that the mages at Ostagar had mentioned.

He followed Elissa through the large double doors, noting with some worry the number of refugees within - not much smaller than those without. There were more people here than they had anticipated, and he doubted they’d be convinced to leave. He dreaded what that might mean for the woman striding confidently before him.

It was difficult to see through the throngs of desperate people seeking asylum and peace in the Temple, but as ever, his sister warden seemed to have an unerring sense of direction.

The trio stood now before a sister of the temple, a woman shorter than Elissa, with shoulder-length red hair that sported a single braid. She seemed unusual, for a Sister of Burn, but who was he to decide?

“Excuse me, Sister…” Elissa began, her matter courteous and proud, clearly the bearing of a child raised in what was called “high society” by those who cared. He didn’t think Elissa cared, nor would she use that term, but the fact remained that she should be inheriting a teyrnir, not keeping a low profile for fear of imprisonment or death.

“I am Sister Leliana, and might I say, you do not look like those fleeing,” the red-haired woman introduced herself, her accent clearly Orlesian.

Elissa, somehow, stood even straighter, steel in her spine, as she responded with a low, resolved, “You are correct; I am _not_ fleeing. But I wonder why these people are not.”

Alistair had a funny feeling at the back of his neck, the way Leliana was studying Elissa. He had spent time in Temples, and she did not fit the bill for most priestesses he met. Not to generalize, but the sleeping goddess was not one who meddled in the same way that most of the others did. He’d spent time within a Temple of Shadow and seen the machinations of ascendants who were players in the game. Burn was not one. But the woman standing here had to be. He thought to reach out, pull Elissa away from her, but he bit back that urge.

“Perhaps you are the one, then,” Leliana said, matter-of-factly, as if they all knew it to be true, “You must see that fear keeps these people firmly planted where they have landed. They believe themselves safe.”

Alistair bristled, “The Darkspawn are right on our heels. A day, perhaps two, and they will be upon this town. If they do not leave-”

A hand silenced him, Elissa now looking at the nearby crowd who had stopped talking and were watching their exchange, “Alistair, please. Perhaps you and Morrigan should go find supplies.”

He swallowed his feeling of rejection. She had asked for them to keep a low profile. Screaming about Darkspawn would do little to accomplish that. She did not scold, nor say anything directly to imply he had failed, but shame filled him, and he nodded with a slight cough.

“I have a plan,” Leliana continued, as if the outburst had not happened, “that I can share with your leader here.”

Having been dismissed, Alistair resorted to what he did best; he followed his orders.

* * *

“What is this plan then?” the woman asked, turning back to Leliana after watching her companions shuffle out of the building.

Leliana liked this woman. She was multi-faceted, that much was plain. Indeed she was the one who she needed, the final piece in the puzzle. If the people here, the soul of any town, had any chance of survival, it was most assuredly in this woman’s hands. 

“Follow me, Warden,” she requested, waving her forward.

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but Leliana only bowed her head, “I am not so easily fooled by missives from Denerim,” she explained, gesturing in the direction they should walk, “I saw the King and Loghain march South. I saw only Loghain march North, steely and silent, his soldiers haunted and in near total numbers. That look comes from betrayal of fellow soldiers, and there would have been fewer of them, if it had happened as was proclaimed.”

She did not imagine the subtle dip in the woman’s shoulders, “Please, call me Elissa. I’d rather not have others know.”

“Elissa, then, I am curious how you escaped.”

“My fellow Warden and I were in the Tower of Ishal. We lit the beacon, signalling Loghain and his men. They failed to respond. And I imagine shortly after that, you watched them marching back North and upon reaching Denerim, Loghain took his opportunity and branded those of us left traitors,” the woman frowned, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. And Leliana did not imagine the way her shadow flickered, as if lashing out. That piqued her interest, but it could wait.

The crowd was restless after Alistair’s shouting. Leliana understood Elissa’s desire for him to leave, but it may have served a purpose regardless. If they heard Darkspawn approached, noted the small remaining force available, perhaps they would be more open to leaving. They exited the main hall, and Leliana led them through the darker corridors of the interior rooms.

“You said earlier that ‘perhaps I am the one.’ To what were you referring?”

Leliana waved her hand vaguely, “Why the one to convince these families to flee. Someone must do it, and the head priestess seems unable to fulfill that task.”

Elissa’s eyes narrowed slightly, “You put much faith in my abilities.”

“It is clear that you are quite capable,” was all she offered, as they had reached the door that she had had added, “through here, please.”

The passages had minimal torches; not wishing to alarm or even alert the priestesses, she had used as few resources as possible.

“How far do these go?”

Leliana smiled - she had hoped for a pragmatic response, direct, unwavering, and she was not disappointed, “North and east. There are caves at the far end.”

“The Darkspawn have no problems with being underground,” Elissa mused, turning in a slow circle, “but if we get everyone into the passages before they get too close, they may simply pass by.”

“That was my thought, too.”

“What do you need from me?”

“I need a story, Warden.”


	9. Lothering Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is in motion to clear Lothering of inhabitants, get them to safety, away from the Darkspawn forces approaching. Before that can happen, however, Elissa finds another companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why. Are. The. Deep. Roads. So. Hard? WHY? Every time I think I have it...ugh. So close. I am so close. Literally one scene standing between me and Denerim, and I'm tempted to just be like "And then they left!"
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> If it wasn't clear in the last chapter, Leliana is a bit different in this AU. Namely the whole mage thing. Sten also has been changed to better suit some of the themes and character tropes in Malazan.

Elissa wasn’t sure how Leliana worked so quickly, but within a matter of hours, stories of the Darkspawn had spread, a rumor now bubbling through the refugee camp that there were tunnels, underground passages that would lead to safety.

They had gathered by the temple, shouting their questions. As Leliana had explained, the priestesses within did not leave the relative safety of the building.

Elissa climbed onto a wagon, her presence alone garnering enough attention that the crowd went quiet, at the very least. Hands on the pommels of her daggers, she spoke to them, “The rumors you have heard are true. I have seen the passages, underground and unknown, leading to the north. The Darkspawn horde is coming, was on our heels, as we travelled.”

“Some of you have come far,” she nodded, “some of you have already faced these corrupted creatures. Some have been lost. You understand what is at stake here. You understand that wooden walls and temple guards, though brave and skilled, will not be enough to withstand what is coming. I have been informed, and I have looked to confirm, that the passages _are_ open and clear.”

The crowd had roared. Some skeptics were sprinkled among them, but their questions and doubt were drowned out by hope.

The temple guards were now directing those same refugees to the tunnels, the wave of humanity flowing in an organized, winding path, into the passage.

Elissa and Alistair were helping to keep the peace, the authority plain enough in their armor. At Leliana’s suggestion, they did not hide their allegiance to the Order, nor was it broadcasted. The glint of recognition, shock sometimes, was clear enough, but even those who may have thought to turn them in for a bounty thought first of their immediate safety.

Leliana had advised that the passages would take them on a two-day journey to the caves, which would mean the people escaping now would at least stay ahead of the army approaching. By their estimates, Lothering itself had a day, two if lucky, to empty itself into these underground escape routes.

It was slow work. To avoid overcrowding, they had started a sort of lottery, sending families with children first.

More than once, Alistair had to step in and restrain some that were desperate and trying to fight their way in early.

“There is enough time for everyone,” Elissa barked, striding confidently down the line of refugees, Rood a large, silent shadow by her side, “but we will do this in an orderly fashion.”

There was no “or.” There was no alternative.

“By tomorrow evening, all will be on their way North. Should you choose not to wait, the road is clear. And should you choose to remain here, prepare yourself to meet Hood.”

It was a long day, but after hours of barking orders, _keeping_ order, the massive doors to the temple were shut, and those waiting returned nervously to their camps. For a group bent on staying in place this morning, they were all suddenly very eager to make use of these tunnels.

Elissa questioned her importance to the plan. Leliana could have announced the tunnels’ presence just as easily. Or one of the temple guards. These thoughts accompanied her to the edge of the town, seeking solitude.

What she found instead was a man in a cage - tall, broad, skin dark and dusky, almost gray, black hair twisted into knots that were pulled back in a thong. He wore leather armor and a spear tied to his back. His eyes were tracking her, as she walked past, and met hers when she stopped.

“Hood’s marble balls, what are you doing here?”

“I have been imprisoned,” he replied simply, as if the answer should be obvious. His voice rumbled.

“I see that. Any particular reason?”

“I killed a family nearby.”

“And so they’ve left you out here, what? Just to rot?”

“To hold until I am executed. Though I believe they have forgotten about me, given the threat approaching.”

Elissa stepped closer to him, perhaps too tired to care much for manners, “Where are you from?”

“My appearance,” the man huffed, crossing his arms, “makes me stick out.”

Yes, he was unusual in appearance, but what she studied was his shadow. Or rather shadows. He wasn’t touching Meanas, and yet they were alive.

“I am Sten. A Qunari.”

“The shadows,” was all she could muster in response.

“The Tiste Edur are children of shadow.”

She hummed, still entranced, before catching herself, “I am...terribly rude. My apologies.”

The man seemed mildly amused rather than offended at least.

“I cannot leave you in this cage,” she continued, leaning over to study the lock.

“I do not fear death.”

She smiled at that, “Nor do I, but I still will not. What brings you to Lothering?”

The man shifted his weight. Despite his dismissal of her offer, he watched with keen interest, as she retrieved her tools and began probing the lock, getting a feel for it, “I have been sent on behalf of my clan.”

It was fine that he didn’t wish to answer. Elissa’s formal training had included lockpicking as a formality, a just-in-case, an afterthought. She had practiced on her own enough but never with an audience. The silence was necessary.

And calming.

She concentrated on the pins, feeling them gingerly, pressing the first one up until she felt it slip clear of the housing. She eased the second one, the third, and finally she felt the housing clear entirely. Pins in place, she carefully twisted her tension wrench until they both watched the latch spring open.

“Behind you,” the gruff voice of the prisoner muttered - loud enough he knew she’d hear but low enough to keep it between them.

She stood, feigning obliviousness, and glanced down at the latch of the door. He met her eye, understanding.

They moved simultaneously, Elissa turning with blades in hand and the stranger, Sten, the Tiste Edur, bursting from the cage with that spear ready.

It seemed that some of those faces that had shown recognition had lost patience or whatever acceptance they had shown while waiting in line to flee. Four of them in total, only one shouting to keep her alive for the bounty.

The sudden action gave them pause, if not the bellowed roar of her unlikely companion. And they paid for that.

Sten stepped past her and lunged, twisting the spear, longer than those she normally saw, and more flexible too, so that it avoided the blade of the man he was attacking, the spear's head whipping viciously over his bare arm before slicing through his side. Red bloomed on his shirt, and he stepped back, hand to the wound. Elissa followed the attack, stepping in to take two swipes, quick and direct. The man fell.

To her right, she saw Sten feint with the tip up high before swirling it around the attacker’s counter, and plunging it into his belly.

She tackled the one coming up behind him, throwing her shoulder low into the man’s hips, so that he staggered back. She used the side of her blade against his unguarded inner thigh, before moving on to the last man.

Sten beat her to it, his hand wrapped around the man’s throat. He wasn’t exceptionally tall, though larger than most humans, for sure. The muscles in his arm bulged as he lifted the man an inch, two inches off the ground, before tossing him to the side.

With a sigh of regret, of frustration, she stared at her attackers. Why couldn’t they have left well enough alone? What reward did they anticipate finding in this town that would soon be overrun with creatures with no mind for riches, only slaughter?

“You fight with shadows,” Sten commented, sliding his spearhead through the grass to clean it.

“I was trained a bit, but I’m no adept.”

The man nodded, offered no further comment on the subject, except to point out, “They were after you.”

She let out a long sigh, “I’m a member of the Order of the Grey. Teyrn Loghain has blamed my order for the death of the king, when he in fact is the one who betrayed him. It’s all very...political and boring and nothing more than a diversion from the real threat.”

“So you are hunted by his men?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will accompany you.”

She thought to protest, though she had no viable reason. She nodded, “Then I welcome you, Sten, of the Qunari tribe of the Tiste Edur.”

“And what do I call you?”

“Elissa.”

* * *

Morrigan had heard of Tiste Edur, the bastard children of Mother Dark and Father Light; long-lived, as the other Tiste, though with less grace than their pure siblings. Of course Sten, as Elissa introduced him, seemed impressive enough - taller by a head than Alistair, broad, and clearly sure-footed.

Elissa shared the tale of his release at her hands, and her rescue at his.

Alistair was displeased. Leliana, who had asked to stay with them on the pretense of planning for the following day, was surprised but otherwise unbothered.

“So it is true, then, that you killed a family?”

Sten was looking across the fire at the red-haired woman, “Yes.”

“Why?” Alistair, this time.

“Does it matter?”

“A little,” Leliana admitted.

“What is the plan for tomorrow?” Elissa asked, interrupting the interrogation.

The questioning stopped, and Leliana sighed, “We managed to get about a third into the tunnels today. And a small group agreed to continue overland on foot.”

The Warden nodded slowly, “That’s not a bad start. Do you think we can have them all in tomorrow?”

To that Leliana only shrugged, “I do not know. But we must also consider what _our_ plan is. The horde is coming, and we will not be enough to hold it, any more than the current band of refugees and small number of templars would.”

Elissa rubbed her face thoughtfully, staring into the flames. She offered no suggestion, however.

Morrigan was more interested in Leliana, of those assembled. She had determined the source of Elissa’s otherness; there was nothing of note about Alistair, she felt certain, a man born to follow others; Sten was new, and she would understand in time what brought a Tiste Edur into their midst. Leliana knew more than she should, and she knew more than she let on, no doubt.

Simply put, the woman came across as naive, and yet she had had the good sense to build tunnels that would take people miles north of the city. That could not have happened overnight. Morrigan was sure that Elissa had had these thoughts, and she planned to simply be available for the Warden to come to her, to ask.

As if hearing her thoughts, Elissa glanced at her from her spot at the fire. She gave a nod in response, sweeping her gaze intentionally over to the edge of the camp.

“Regardless, we need our rest. We should retire and wake early, get the people moving again. I’ll not leave before we’ve secured them. You are welcome to stay in camp.”

Having given her orders, but unwilling to marshal them, Elissa stood, hands on her daggers, and gave a stiff nod before wandering to the darker edge of camp, where she had set her tent.

Alistair followed her lead, of course, standing and leaving.

Sten was next, taking the last of the roasted rabbit that they had cooked over the spit with him. He grunted at her slightly, noting her attention.

That left Leliana, who was staring into the flames. Elissa’s nod became clear - she was not asking to speak with Morrigan. She was asking Morrigan to speak with Leliana. So she did notice.

“You seem quite capable, Leliana.”

“It is not what you think,” she stated plainly, meeting her gaze across the light of the flames, “I was warned, and I acted.”

“Warned by whom, I wonder.”

“The Queen of Dreams. But it does me little good to explain that to people; I find it better suits me to play the part they expect. She told me, too, that I was to wait for someone who could rouse the crowd. I believe it is in our best interest to see that the Order of the Grey is victorious, but I do not need to explain to you, I am sure.”

She hoped to keep her expression sour, and not shocked, as she felt, though in light of which confession she was unsure. That T’riss would speak with this woman, that she freely admitted to being more than she appeared, or that she saw in Morrigan the same understanding of the stakes.

“I do not care that you or Elissa know. But to those in the world, I must always be what I appear to be.”

“You and I have that in common.”

“Then I believe we will become fast friends.” Leliana stood then and smiled, “I wish you pleasant dreams, Morrigan.”

The other woman was out of sight before Morrigan sighed, “Indeed.”

* * *

Alistair knew that Elissa was right - sleep would be a welcome and scarce resource in the days, weeks, months to come. He knew, as it eluded him. Thus he found himself wandering the dark, quiet city by the light of little more than the moon.

Things had moved quickly today, with highs and lows that had him reeling.

And he had yet to process all that had already happened. Faces flashed before him - Nine Lives, the archer who had successfully escaped death too many times to count; Cinder, nicknamed for the night of their Joining when, celebrating their return, they had caught their shirt on fire; Gardener, Lock, Humble, L’aratum. Duncan.

His throat constricted, remembering his last conversation with their commander. He had questioned him, the Mortal Sword of Fener, and his friend. They had exchanged no real goodbye, and Alistair now had many things that he would never be able to express to the man who had saved him from a lifetime of living by someone else’s desires.

If he had been there, by Duncan’s side, then maybe…

Elissa’s face swam before his mind’s eye, then. That blank stare, as she had gazed out over the battle, her face twisted in pain and shock and grief, sadness he could not fathom. That same face slack, lifeless, as he drew her close, the last remaining piece of the family he had found. Her face when she awoke, his relief when she did.

And the Shield Anvil was strong. To have survived all that had happened. In bits and pieces, he had come to understand what occurred in her home. Waking in the night to find her family betrayed, fighting alongside her mother through the corridors littered with the corpses of people she had known all her life, Duncan invoking the Reve. He could picture it. He had seen her fight. She was swift, graceful, like a dancer in lethal step with her opponents.

She was kind. She was...he wasn’t too proud to admit, silently, to himself, that she was attractive, and that her combination of softness and hard edges only served to deepen that attractiveness in his eyes.

But those thoughts, silent though they may be, were inappropriate, and he knew it.

Still, when he saw the flash of red on the trellise of the meager estate, he couldn’t help the draw he felt. Sharp thorns but soft petals. There was something to that.

* * *

Sten woke for the first time in days with a belly that did not hurt from hunger. The others in the camp were not yet awake, with one exception - the woman who had freed him from the cage, Elissa.

She seemed small to his eyes, given the power she had demonstrated the day prior. And quiet for one who clearly commanded the respect of her fellows.

Now she stood silently at the edge of camp, back straight, hands clasped behind her, as she looked out over the refugee tents below. She had insisted they stay on the bridge overlooking the encampment the night prior, citing the potential for bandits or Darkspawn. Neither had come in the night.

He thought to ignore her presence, to break his fast and prepare for the day without muddling through words. But he found himself striding towards her, stopping at her left-hand side, and gazing down as well.

“They seem to sleep soundly, despite their curses at me yesterday for not letting them through.”

He grunted a laugh, and he saw the slight tug of her lips into a smile.

“The Darkspawn are close already. Those who do not make it into the caves today should leave on foot.”

“Does that include us?”

For the first time since he’d woken, her shoulders slumped just slightly, as she pinched the bridge of her nose, “Much as I believe in our abilities, I don’t think we can take on the entire horde from here.”

“It is better to face your enemy from a place of strength.”

She snorted, “Which one?”

After a beat, she shook her head, her posture once again straight and proud, “I do not mean that of course. Whatever political game Loghain is playing is foolhardy in the face of this corruption.”

He came close to telling her, to admitting why he was here, the mission that the Qunari tribal elders had sent him on. But the location of a gate to Emurlahn was a secret guarded with his life. The very fact that he considered telling her was dangerous, and if he were a better man, he’d be taking his leave.

Instead he nodded, “There is wisdom in knowing which foe is greater.”

“You imply that we should remove Loghain first.”

He was implying that, or he was going to. Instead he shrugged and offered nothing further.

“Yes, well. First thing’s first. Let’s go wake up some angry, desperate people, shall we?”

* * *

The evacuation went as smoothly as it could, all things considered. The remaining number of people in Lothering was small enough that nearly three quarters were able to go through the caves. Those that had mounts, were in good health, or simply volunteered, left early, over land, to head to Denerim.

The last to funnel through the door of the temple were the priestesses themselves, ushered in by Leliana who promised that she would see to it that nothing was damaged.

“We’ll need to hide the door,” Elissa frowned, looking at its obvious opening.

If she didn’t know better, she’d say that for a moment, Leliana looked nervous, maybe guilty.

“I have a plan for that,” she said.

Elissa truly didn’t care if she was cryptic. Not as long as the woman was willing to help.

“Alistair,” she called, surprised to see her fellow warden at her side in seconds, “I need you to start breaking down our camp. We need to move, just as these poor sods.”

“Right away,” he responded, making brief eye contact, worry written there, but he followed her instructions all the same.

“Sten, I’d like for you to accompany him.”

“Very well.”

When the two men were out of earshot, Elissa turned to fully face Leliana, “Alright. Tell me this plan.”

Leliana’s eyes flicked to Morrigan, “It will require both of us.”

Morrigan’s face tightened for a moment, “You might have said.”

“Enough,” Elissa barked at them, “I want to hear this plan, in its entirety.”

“It will take time to explain, and it is time we can ill afford. I have been planning for your arrival for some time, and that included preparations for what needs to be done.”

She would give no ground on this. There was much at stake, and before they left the town, she needed to know that those she had sent through the tunnels would be safe. She had promised as much. And she didn’t think she had it in her to accept the sudden, awful deaths of so many of them. Ostagar had nearly killed her.

“It will be a chasm,” Leliana explained, slowly, “and I need Morrigan to aid me. I cannot do it alone. It is a ritual. And it is almost ready.”

Elissa held up a hand, “A chasm?”

“You should know,” Morrigan chimed in, “that I don’t use warrens. If that hasn’t been clear.”

“Oh, I know, but that’s ok. This is older than that, anyway.”

Elissa had always felt she had a good handle on things outside of the tangible world she lived in. She understood the Fatid, perhaps better than the common folk; she could feel Meanas, sometimes borrow it a bit. She had heard of hedge mages in the past, though only in books, but she had been led to believe that these were simply wise women, making poultices and herbal remedies.

She hadn’t the faintest clue what Leliana and Morrigan were discussing, and she found herself regretting asking Leliana to explain. Already feeling a headache about it, she shook her head, held up a hand, “Very well; I supposed I don’t need the details. How far away do we need to be?”

* * *

The stone piles had taken minimal time to prepare, given everything else that Leliana had worked on to get Lothering ready. Now she only wished they could have been closer together, as she placed the sticks in the ground and tied the length of string between them. She hoped she had enough string.

Morrigan followed behind her, working the stone piles into the correct configuration and preparing them for what was to come, murmuring to the spirits in the land about what needed to be done.

She had led the warden to believe she was fully confident in this plan. And she was. Her part, at the very least. It would work. She had all of the pieces in place, and now all they had to do was see it through.

Sixth and final stick in the ground, string tied, tight enough to hold but loose enough, so it bent slightly.

“In order, please,” Leliana reminded Morrigan.

“Yes, I know.”

“Are you ready?”

“Not yet,” the other woman snapped, “the spirits may not be corrupted, but they are as confused as I.”

“I’ve worked it out.”

“In some dream, yes?”

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

“Are they far enough away? Are we? Will you be?”

Leliana threw her a look that perhaps betrayed her slight, _very slight_, lack of confidence because Morrigan’s face grew stormy.

“We shall be fine,” Leliana finally said, pursing her lips and returning to the task at hand, “so long as we _concentrate_ and follow my directions.”

Morrigan scowled at her but completed her final arrangement of stones. She indicated wordlessly that she would be heading to the other end of their stone-stick-string contraption, “The spirits are ready. They understand what they must do.”

Leliana nodded distractedly, watching her counterpart follow the path back the way they had come. She waited at her end; the distance wasn’t so great that she couldn’t see Morrigan, but enough that the details were gone. Good, she thought, I don’t want to see her scowling.

When she saw Morrigan in place, she raised a hand. She saw Morrigan’s hand go up. She inhaled slowly, closed her eyes, felt for the right warren. The rest happened as quickly as she could manage.

She dropped her hand; both women knelt by their stick ends, pushed them in and then pulled them back. The stones in the middle rose into the air.

“Now!”

They pulled the sticks from the ground, and Leliana let Tennes flow through her. The ground rumbled beneath them. The stone at the center of their construct began to rattle before falling back to the earth. Everything went quiet.

And then the ground before them cracked, the sound, like a clap of thunder resonating in Leliana’s teeth. The fissure spread haphazardly across, the land around it wrinkling, soil churning, as it fell into a swiftly forming canyon. She saw Morrigan stumble back from the violent tremor, and for just a moment, she wondered if perhaps they were too close.

The bridge, or at least what was left of it, emerging from the edge of the Korcari Wilds, trembled, shuddered, before crumbling under its own weight, pieces tumbling and rolling away. Not wishing to see if she had miscalculated, Leliana waved for Morrigan to follow, and they made their way, on unsteady feet, back toward where their fellows were waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tennes: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Tennes
> 
> Tiste Andii: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Tiste_Andii
> 
> Tiste Edur: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Tiste_Edur
> 
> Tiste Liosan: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Tiste_Liosan


	10. Kinloch Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and her companions travel to Kinloch Hold to recruit the aid and expertise of the mages housed there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I was not about to go through the whole Fade in this retelling. And given how long and painful the Deep Roads sections were, I think I made the right call.
> 
> That said, I needed something to happen here, so...this is what came up.
> 
> And with this chapter, we come to the end of the first “part” of the book. After each “part” will be an interlude - shorter chapters that take place at camp. Yaaay.
> 
> Unrelated to any of this - I hope anyone and everyone reading is healthy and safe.

“I understand that we need to get to Redcliffe, however if the warrens become unavailable to us again, as this corruption creeps closer, we need to be prepared. The mage’s conclave at Calenhad is our best chance at finding a way to fight it.”

The Shield Anvil of the Order of the Grey remained outwardly calm, but Sten felt confident that on the inside she was seething, or at the very least greatly annoyed.

When she announced that morning that their first stop would be Lake Calenhad, and more specifically Kinloch Hold, she was met with nothing but arguments from all sides. He was not bothered by the decision; he was confident he could keep Emurlahn protected, even in that nest of vipers, and he was curious about what the mages and priests there might say about the Blight anyway.

Morrigan disapproved, citing that the warrens were the crutch of newer mages - “Fight the corruption by going around it. I have no need of warrens to work my magic.”

Leliana advised that there were some ascendants fighting the corruption already - “You saw what we were able to do at Lothering!”

And Alistair, the other Warden, protested the stop entirely, reminding Elissa that they had a potential ally in Arl Eamon of Redcliffe, and he had heard rumors that the man had fallen ill.

In the face of so much detraction, Sten had seen others recoil or shout louder in an attempt to reclaim their authority. Elissa did no such thing. Her posture remained straight but relaxed, hands laced behind her, as the three others voiced their opinions.

And having listened, she said no once more. He was increasingly assured that following her was the right choice. Strong leaders were important to his tribe, but they were all too rare. The people of Ferelden were lucky to have such a capable woman on their side, and more than that, fighting the fight that needed to be won.

Within the hour the camp was packed, and they were on their way west toward their destination. There was no more argument, and his fellows had the good sense to keep their grumbles quiet and mostly to themselves. He had a vague sense of where they were heading but no concept of the distance, having travelled it the first time in a feverish frenzy, but Elissa drove them hard.

There were signs of the desperate flight along the road - discarded belongings that littered the paths, too large to carry when in a hurry or too easy to forget when breaking camp in the morning. Sten mused that a horde of Darkspawn shambling, unending, toward your home, likely made the material possessions that so many sought after seem silly, petty. Clearly the people on the move had learned that lesson.

The bodies likely indicated people who had not.

There were blessedly few corpses that they encountered, and the further west they got, the numbers dwindled even further.

The first day of travel was isolated - they were behind the bulk of those people who had fled from Lothering, and the silence of the main road, accompanied by the abandoned signs of life, made for an eerie journey. The others in the group must have felt it, for that first day was remarkably quiet. At the very least, Sten appreciated the lack of idle chatter, words just to fill the space.

They experienced the first day quietly, together, and in camp that night, they seemed to have been knit together, even loosely, by all that they had seen. Morrigan silently offered him her water skin when his ran dry; Alistair helped Leliana with her tent before she could ask.

On the second day they began to see signs of actual life, even passing a small wagon, driven by two mules who had likely never pulled more than a simple plow, and carrying two wrinkled people who had likely never left their village.

Elissa had them stop to help another wagon, the wheel having wrenched free in a vicious dip. The dip turned out to be a trap, and in addition to fixing the wheel, Elissa and her followers exacted vicious justice on the would-be bandits who had laid it.

All told, with the stops they made, it took to the end of the third day before they arrived on the edge of Lake Calenhad.

He could practically taste the gate that he had exited here. And he remembered vividly the running battle he had fought. Being back was unpleasant, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as he had supposed it would be.

The particular shore they were looking for, the dock that would provide a ferry into the middle of the large body of water where the tower was built, was not by a town. There was an inn, a small merchant’s stand, and the few houses of those that lived and worked directly within the vicinity.

It was a sort of dismal place, given the power that was present just there in the lake - perhaps a fitting representation of the world, a reminder to those here that power would remain always just out of reach. The grim faces of those in the only small inn near the docks seemed to prove his theory.

Over a meager supper at the rundown inn, The Spoiled Princess (indeed, he thought), Elissa shared the details of Kinloch Hold - the center for High Denul healing, something that was foreign to his own people. And, of more interest to him, “a new priest joined not long ago, claiming to speak for Treach.”

“The Tiger of Summer,” Morrigan asked, her interest piqued for the first time that day.

“Apparently found, awakened from his madness,” Leliana confirmed, voice still sounding distant after the display of power they shared only days before.

Elissa nodded her agreement, “It was news to the small temple to Fener that we housed in the...castle.”

She said the last bit quietly and said nothing else for a time. Pain, he knew, fresh and deep, related to that castle, wherever it was. He had no time to ask; she excused herself soon after, bidding them get sleep and prepare for tomorrow.

* * *

They had not been prepared.

They had not been prepared to be turned away at the docks. Though they managed to get to the hold anyway.

They had not been prepared for a catastrophically failed unveiling of Aral Gamelon. Though it appeared to be their problem all the same.

But none of that mattered, how prepared they may have been, an hour into the fighting, Elissa’s blades slick with gore, black blood splashed on her face, as she stared down one of the priests within.

“So help me, Hood will not accept your tattered carcass when I am done with it if you cannot get those mages to hold that damned door.”

The man nodded desperately and returned to the mages in question.

She dragged a hand over her face, grimacing down at her palm when it came away sticky with blood. She made a disgusted noise but moved on quickly, “Morrigan, Leliana, how are you holding up?”

Leliana looked pale to Alistair’s eyes, but she nodded regardless, “Not yet spent.”

Morrigan seemed absolutely fine; she spoke often of the superiority of the Holds, and it was difficult to discredit her views, given how hale she seemed comparatively.

Elissa looked tired but angry. They had not been anticipating a fight, so she was in her light traveling armor, now torn across the back from where a Kenryll’ah tyrant had clawed at her. She had moved far enough away to avoid the worst of it, so only a thin red line marred her skin beneath.

“Alistair?”

He thought for a moment that he was staring and had been caught, “I wasn’t - what?”

Elissa gave him a strange look, “Are you alright?”

Concern flashed over her features until he leaned on his sword to stand once more, “I’ll manage, Shield Anvil.”

He wasn’t sure if the smile she gave him in response was genuine or not, in response to his use of the title.

Their other companion, Sten, remained quiet and seemed none the worse for wear, drawing a stone over his spear’s blade to both clean and sharpen it.

The morning had been so promising. He and Elissa were the first to wake, or at the very least, the first to break their fast. She hadn’t armored herself yet, and he marveled at how...soft...she seemed. Her dark leather still in the room, she had sat across from him in a brightly colored silk blouse and loose linen pants. He had damn near dropped the spoon he had been using when she slid onto the bench across from him.

“Sleep well?”

“I did,” he replied, though he wasn’t sure if she noticed the higher octave of his voice, as he stammered to get out, “And yourself?”

“Like a Hood-damned babe. While I have you here, I wanted to let you know that I mean to look for recruits today. Nothing official. I like our group, have total faith in them, but I’d feel better knowing that we have some backup.”

“You mean to...rebuild the Order?”

She shrugged, waving the inn’s sole waitress over and requesting tea and toast, “We need to start at some point.”

“We’ve lost the Mortal Sword.”

“We have a Destriant, and we have you and me.”

“And you mean to recruit battle mages?”

Another shrug, then a smile and thanks to the woman who brought her meal to the table, “I don’t know. We need someone who can open a gate, though, if we do mean to continue the Joining. First priority is to find out if someone - anyone - can give us more information about what is happening and, more importantly, how we might stop it.”

He absolutely did not stare at the way she blew over her tea, lips soft and moist from the steam.

The conversation after that had turned to less serious matters, and by the time Leliana joined them, he was enjoying the sound of Elissa’s infectious laughter.

When their group had all eaten and dressed, they made the walk to the docks, only to be told by a shaking new member of the temple’s guard that the hold was closed off. It took minimal pressing to learn about the unveiling that happened the night prior, the lock down procedures that they had gone through. It took little more to convince him to ferry them across anyway.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, given the account they heard on the short boat ride over, but it wasn’t quite enough to prepare him for the sheer size of the demons, for the chaos that they had already wrought.

The bodies of apprentice mages were strewn in the hall alongside the Templars of D’rek hired to guard them, twisted and broken, as though they were rag dolls tossed aside in favor of a newer toy.

They had so far come across two Kenryll’ah tyrants and a Kenyll’rah. And an Aptorian was now trying to break through the door.

“I don’t understand,” Morrigan said for what had to be hundredth time, “do they truly not know how to control these creatures? If they’re summoning them?”

“Something’s wrong with them,” Leliana offered, “same as the warrens when we were close to Ostagar.”

“Hood take them all. Sheer arrogance,” Morrigan snapped.

“Ready yourselves,” Sten warned, stepping to the side of where the mages were gathered by a large wooden door, his spear held loosely. Alistair knew how deadly that weapon could be, even when he appeared barely engaged.

Elissa nodded tightly and backed into the meager shadows of a corner on the other side. Leliana and Morrigan shared a look before gathering together with a spool of yarn that they began to unravel, stepping away from one another one step at a time, keeping the string between them taught.

And Alistair joined the few remaining heavies from the guards behind those at the door, shield up and ready. He had needed that rest; already he felt better equipped to hold up his shield, where before its weight had started to become noticeable. He rolled his shoulders, his neck, and he made ready.

The door splintered open, and the broad, flat head of the demon came through, its lone eye scanning the hall beyond. A snake-like tongue flitted from its mouth, its single foreleg pawing at the remains of the door.

“Move!” Leliana’s voice came from behind, “let it pass now!”

Most of them heard her command and stepped to the side, happy enough to be out of the eyeline of the strange creature. Not everyone did, and they were crushed under the weight of the 9 foot tall demon, as it loped in its awkward, three-legged gait, forward into the hall.

Alistair kept his shield up and ready, though it seemed content to move straight forward - toward the yarn they had spread, he noticed.

It snarled at the two mages holding it, snapping its jaws from side to side.

Then it hit the yarn.

There was no sound, but when it ran into the string, a shimmering veil appeared, through which it disappeared, and all present heard, resoundingly, in their minds, HOME.

The gate closed. Morrigan stared down the mages at the door with a face that made her opinions of them and their abilities clear enough.

A beat of silence, then Elissa seemed to melt out of the shadows, before barking, “Who is in charge here? Take me to them immediately. And where is your Hood-damned Priest of Fener?”

* * *

Elissa wondered if the Destriant was able to speak with Fener, if she knew that a Shield Anvil had been found, maybe even was heading toward Ferelden now. She herself felt utterly lost, understanding enough to know that she absorbed the grief of his followers, and very little else.

She had spoken to Morrigan about it late one night at camp, early on, and she had given the history of the term itself - its ties to the fabled T’Lan Imass. It was fascinating but held little practical value, as the witch had warned her.

And so she found herself waiting for the leaders of the temple, a devotee of T’riss who called himself First Enchanter, Irving, and the Priest of Fener, who she had learned was a practitioner of High Denul, a woman named Wynne.

With the exception of Sten, her party had been exhausted after the fighting that had happened in the lower levels, so she had ordered them back to the inn across the lake, Sten along to ensure their safety. Alistair, unfortunately, she needed to stay with her.

He sat now in one of the chairs available in this mostly still intact room, while she paced, glancing over the shelves that held books from all over the world, places she had never heard of.

“Alistair?”

“Mmm?”

“You ever hear of a place called Darujhistan?”

She heard him shift in the chair, “Darujhistan? No. Where did <i>you</i> hear about it?”

She gestured at the books before her before clasping her hands once more behind her back. More than ever it was important for her to lean on what she had learned from her father, from their priest. No matter the weight, keep your shoulders square and your chin high, she told herself again and again.

The door behind them opened, and she turned neatly on her heel stepping up to the seating area, nodding her head in respect, “First Enchanter. High Priest.”

The man, Irving she assumed, stepped forward, “Please, it is our pleasure to welcome you. And thanks are in order.”

The woman stepped to his side, “Irving, this woman is more than she seems. I greet you well, Shield Anvil,” and she gave the Order’s salute.

Relief flooded her, but she remained as calm as possible, “Thank you. I wish I were here under better circumstances.”

“As do we,” Irving sighed. He took his own seat, settling himself with clear exhaustion. He was an older man, wizened face hidden behind grey beard and long hair that she imagined was normally neater. He wore the robes that were common for his priesthood.

Wynne followed suit, sitting in the chair to his right, back straight and shoulders squared - clear enough that she was a devotee of Fener, then. Finally Elissa sat herself, inhaled slowly.

No time for niceties beyond what we’ve shared, she reminded herself, “I’ll get to the point. Alistair and I were at Ostagar.”

The two across from them shared a look.

“I understand the rumor is that the Order betrayed Cailan. For what my word may be worth to you, I assure you that the betrayal was Loghain’s. We survived because Duncan-“

“The Mortal Sword. Did he...is he….?”

Alistair’s pained choke was answer enough. Elissa stared down at the floor, the memory of that man’s grief heavy in her heart. She continued, “The entire Order, save ourselves. Gone. We were at the Tower of Ishal; we were to light the beacon, indicating to Loghain and his men that it was time for their charge. They turned and marched away instead.”

If she had been standing, she would have staggered. She had passed the grief on to Fener, but there had been so much, she felt it had seeped into her bones. She held the memories of the order in her skin, her blood, and they were nothing but sorrow and pain.

Taking a steadying breath, she continued, “Omtose Phellack. It was sensed, followed, and when found, was...corrupted. Fevered.”

She spoke to both of them, but her eyes were on Wynne, who would understand better, perhaps, than Irving, what she meant. It was unlikely, if not impossible, that the woman before her had gone through the Joining, but surely she knew that their god’s warren bordered chaos.

“It wasn’t just the Darkspawn. It was the very warrens. They were...wrong.”

Not for the first time Elissa felt unprepared and wrong for this task set before her. She hadn’t the skills to explain what was wrong with the warrens, how they were corrupted, how the mages had struggled with even minor tasks. She was instead reduced to leaning entirely on her title, her position with Fener and within his Reve.

Irving and Wynne exchanged a glance, “We have heard reports and have even tasted some of what you speak.”

“I’ve reason to believe that the Chained God may be involved,” Elissa tested the water with this knowledge.

Wynne nodded, “We’ve suspected the same. And there’s more.”

Irving stood and made his way to a bookshelf, groaning slightly at the mess of books on the floor from where something had hit one of the tall wooden structures and splintered it, “We believe,” he said, selecting a tome from the selection, “that an Eleint has been awakened. We do not know its nature, but it is powerful enough to cause ripples, you see.”

Elissa nodded, though she hadn’t the faintest idea what that meant. Flemeth had said the same; all that was happening was confirmation, but she needed a Hood-damned solution. She flexed her hand against the fabric of the chair, focused on the sting in her back where that demon had clawed her, willed patience.

“As I see it,” she finally breathed out, keeping her voice as steady as she could muster, “I’ve creatures of Omtose Phellack that have been corrupted by the Chained One and possibly an Eleint. I need to track down the source of the Chained One’s power in Ferelden, find this dragon, and also restore order to the nobility on the heels of Loghain’s betrayal.”

“Your prowess has been noted here today, Shield Anvil, but you will need more than your current number to succeed at even one of those,” Irving muttered, flipping through the pages of the book in his hands.

Elissa took a deep breath to keep from snapping, “That is why I’m here. And to determine the origin of this blade.”

She gestured to Alistair, who dutifully removed the sword from where he had it stowed. He paused at the reaction of the two mages, both of whom stepped back and hissed, as if burned.

“Please put it away,” Irving managed.

Alistair did so, casting a worried look at Elissa, who could only shrug and ask, “What...is it?”

“Otataral,” Wynne offered, “it is anathema to magic.”

“I apologize. We didn’t know. It is a relic of the Order, and we were told that we would need it in the fight to come.”

Wynne shook her head, “No, it’s...yes, it can help. An Eleint is tied to the magic of a hold, most often. This blade will be necessary to destroy it.”

Elissa stared at the blade. She had taken it out once before to look at it. It was nothing terribly special to look at, its color like that of rust. Had she known…

“I will accompany you,” Wynne continued.

Elissa studied the priest; she was an older woman, though clearly still spry, “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but for what purpose?”

“Only to see that you succeed, Warden. I am a High Denul healer - my skills could come in handy.”

Alistair winced at that, “High Denul?”

Elissa studied Wynne for a long moment. The use of Denul magic to heal was a practice used in armies but rarely anywhere else. It was...difficult. Denul magic forced the healing, knit skin and bone back together quickly, before the mind and soul could come to terms with what had happened. It left mental scars where it erased the physical, and there were some who had been so badly damaged that they never fully recovered - Tranquil, they called them, stripped of what made them human.

But in times of life and death, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Elissa nodded, “If you are certain your services are not needed here, we would of course be honored to have you.”

Irving sighed, “I couldn’t keep her here if I begged anyway.”

The priest of Fener laughed, brushed the man’s shoulder, “Irving, I’ll be back. I simply cannot leave the Shield Anvil to face this alone.”

So it was hours later that Elissa arrived back on the shore of the lake with Alistair and a priest of Fener, ready for a bath and a long sleep, since tomorrow would see the start of her plan to raise an army.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Destriant: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Destriant
> 
> High Denul: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Denul


	11. At Camp 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the first trials of the Blight behind her, Elissa has a quiet moment at camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rewrite this because originally I was going to do more with Kinloch, so this would have been before that. But it worked out alright, I think.

It was strange that their camp now was sprawled almost like a caravan, given their number. Morrigan continued to set up her tent at the far edge, whenever possible bordering trees. Sten eschewed a tent altogether, seemingly content with a sleeping roll and a tarp that he would string up in the event of rain. Wynne and Leliana had fine tents that they kept as close to the fire as they dared. And Alistair, in his Order-issued tent, kept his own far enough away from the light that it would not deter his night vision.  


Elissa kept her own tent nearer to Alistair’s for much the same reason, as well as to make a show of solidarity.  


Their first few nights in camp, she had asked him about the Order, the wardens that she had not known outside the realm of their final moments.  


  
  


_“I miss them,” he whispered into the dark.  
_

_“I know.”  
_

_“I never fit in with the templars; but I felt like I had found a family with the Wardens."  
_

_“Tell me about the them.”  
_

_He gave her a sad sort of smile, which turned into confusion of a sort, “Oh, Hood’s balls, you didn’t even get to know them, did you?”  
_

_She let her hand slide away with his question, laced her fingers over her knee, “I did not. I cannot say I even met many of them. Jory and Daveth of course. And….”  
_

_For the first time since their frantic flight from Ostagar began, she remembered that damned Mistress of Shadow, her face swimming on the card.  
_

_“What? Are you alright?”  
_

_She turned startled eyes back to Alistair, took a deep breath, “Yes. I...I met Jory and Daveth, and I witnessed a reading? Or. No. The man called it Wicked Grace.”  
_

_That had Alistair barking a laugh, which he quickly swallowed into a chuckle, remembering the others were sleeping, “Of course you did. That would have been Barrels. He ran a regular game with some of the older members of the Order.”  
_

_“He...used the Fatid? As playing cards?”  
_

_Alistair nodded vigorously, turning now to better face her, “Oh yes. And a lot of our mage members were not a fan of that. I heard someone once muttering that Barrels didn’t know just what he was stirring up.  
_

_“Duncan always said he was a Talent, and he just didn’t have formal training. I guess there was one night, before a battle in the Frostbacks, that he ran a game, and things went a little nutty. Of course I don’t have the details, but I heard from another member who was there that one of the cards he was dealing shot right out of his hand and embedded itself into the post of the tent.”  
_

_“What card was it?”  
_

_“Orb.”  
_

_“Not the most...ideal...way to start a reading.”  
_

_Alistair snorted, shrugged, “I barely know the houses myself. But a bunch of the mages just went nuts, demanded that Barrels stop, give up the deck altogether.”  
_

_“How did the battle go?”  
_

_He sobered slightly, “The battle itself went ok. After that battle, however, is when King Cailan first reached out to Duncan.” _  


  
  


Of course that was over a week ago now, hard as it was to believe. Sometimes it felt like decades since she had crawled through the mud and rocks of the secret tunnels beneath her home. And others she thought that perhaps her father’s blood was still fresh on her hands.  


Sitting now, just inside her tent, sharpening her blades, and looking out at the quiet of the camp. Her lips twitched into a small, fond smile, as she watched her companions. 

They were a good group. Strong and smart. Complementary, she thought with a sort of nod to herself.  


Even now Leliana was speaking with Wynne about some sort of theory or another. No doubt Morrigan was grateful for the reprieve. Sten was…somewhere. With Rood? The two were fast friends.  


Yes, she could work with this.  


Something that felt suspiciously like hope was creeping into her chest, warm and soft. It caught in her throat, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hold onto it or not.  


Before she could decide, a familiar voice interrupted her reverie.  


“Here look at this. Do you know what this is?” Alistair knelt next to her, hand held out, a brilliant red rose held gingerly between his thumb and forefinger.  


“Is that…a trick question?”  


At her response he settled next to her, legs crossed, while he nodded solemnly, “Yes, absolutely, I’m trying to trick you. Is it working? Aw, I just had you, didn’t I?”  


“Oh, yes, you’re wily,” she smiled, shaking her head.  


“Nefarious, even,” he replied in a menacing baritone, letting out a matching laugh that turned into a cough, his cheeks going red momentarily before he cleared his throat, scratched the back of his neck.  


Elissa waited patiently, eyes on the rose, instead of his face, knowing that sometimes it was easier for him to speak without her full attention.  


“I, uh, picked it in Lothering,” he twirled the stem in his hand, “I remember thinking ‘how could something…_so beautiful_ exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?’ I probably should have left it alone,” he pulled it up closer to his face to study, frowning, “but I couldn’t. The darkspawn would come, and their taint would just destroy it.”  


She looked at him then, surprised to find him looking at her. He quickly looked away, back at the rose, “So I’ve had it ever since.”  


“That’s a nice sentiment,” she hoped her earnestness was not lost of him. She thought to reach out, touch his hand, but instead found the rose there. She wrapped her fingers hesitantly around its stem, careful of the thorns.  


“I thought that I might…give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you.”  


He was meeting her gaze when he said it, but at her surprise, he looked away, pink rising to his cheeks again. Warmth flooded her again, but this time she found herself clinging to that feeling. It wasn’t the time, though. She knew that. He knew that.  


To spare them both, she leaned over, nudging his side with her shoulder, "So…you think of me…as a gentle flower?”  


“A gentle flower? No,” he chuckled, “I don’t know that I’d put it that way.”  


She smiled broadly at that.  


“I guess it’s a bit silly isn’t it?”  


He shrugged, looking again at the rose, now in her hand, “I just thought…here I am doing all this complaining, and you haven’t exactly had a good time of it yourself. You didn’t get a chance to know any of the Grey Wardens, not really, after your Joining.“  


She thought of the stories he’d told her, and the more familiar sadness that had accompanied her the past month began to seep in.  


“It’s all been death and fighting and tragedy.”  


His knee pushed against hers, and she met his eyes. They were open, soft, and the sharp edge of her sadness began to lose some of its edge.  


“I thought maybe I could say something,” his hand came up, as if to touch her cheek, but it stopped inches away, “Tell you what a…a rare and _wonderful_ surprise you are to find amidst all this darkness.”  


Elissa could feel her cheeks growing warm, and she had a strong desire to feel his fingers against her cheek. She thought about indulging, just for a moment, leaning into his hand and allowing that hope and levity to blossom more fully in her chest.  


A sudden sharp pain in her thumb had her dropping her gaze and hissing. A drop of red bloomed where the thorn had stabbed her. Blood on her hand once more.  


“Oh, Elissa - Shield Anvil - um. I…sorry. Here, let me-”  


Feeling the moment slip away, but unwilling to allow Alistair to feel he had erred, she gripped his wrist as it fell, “No. No, I’m fine. I…thank you, Alistair.”  
He nodded, cleared his throat, and then pulled gently away from her grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orb (Fatid): https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Orb


	12. Redcliffe Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and company arrive in Redcliffe and learn that it has been the victim of nightly attacks. She helps prepare the village in exchange for gaining access to the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This begins "part 2" - the Arling, which has 6 chapters. I am finally making some real gains in the final part of this story, which covers Denerim and the Landsmeet and the final showdown. I had hoped this whole quarantine situation would help, but as it turns out I still have a lot to do?

Redcliffe was southwest of Kinloch Hold, nestled along the same body of water. The travelers followed the coast of the lake, along one of the roads. Like their journey from Lothering, they were witness to the detritus of a people in flight. As they approached the wooden walls of Redcliffe, that evidence dwindled to nothing.

A larger town, by far, than Lothering, with a fortified castle to boot, Redcliffe was more likely to withstand the enemy approaching.

Alistair had spent part of his childhood here, and the question that had been gnawing on him for the weeks that had gone by since meeting Elissa were now screaming in his mind. They would be meeting the Arl soon, and she would wonder why he knew the man.

They had spent a few more days at the inn, ferrying back and forth to help with cleanup in the hold, to learn more of the Eleint and the material of the strange blade they had retrieved. The mages and priests had no lack of theories regarding the origins of the Darkspawn, what happened at the Chaining, and how best to combat the chaos eating into the warrens.

Elissa had patiently listened to all that they threw her way, passing looks at him that were at times clearly an indication that she hoped for him to listen and at other times a dry look that made him very nearly laugh out loud. The evenings were spent at dinners and social gatherings; it seemed that everyone wanted to know the Shield Anvil of Fener.

When they could spare no more time, and the theories - at least the useful ones - had dwindled, the party took its leave.

And now, on the morning after their departure, they were breaking camp outside of Alistair’s childhood home. He had to tell her. Time was up.

As if she could read his mind, she appeared by his side, “You seem to be concentrating awfully hard on that elfroot plant. Probably safe to just pluck it at this point.”

He snorted, despite the gravity he felt, “Just wondering if there will be anyone in the town who is, you know, unhappy to see me.”

She elbowed him, “Ah, I see. Some broken hearts? Ladies you left in the night?”

“Sure, that.”

She laughed, shook her head, and turned, “Well we can’t let that get in the way of our mission. Of course if there are any children down there that look like you, I suppose we’ll know why they’re angry.”

“No, Elissa, wait,” he practically hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her back toward him, “I need to tell you…”

She looked up at him, surprise and concern now on her features, “What? What is it?”

“I need you to…” he made a frustrated grunt and pulled his hand from her to push through his hair. He looked away. Looking in her eyes, as he told her...he couldn’t do it, “I mentioned I’m a bastard?”

He posed it at as a question, but they both knew he had; there was little to do in camp at night, and he found it so easy to talk to her. She absolutely knew he was a bastard. Knew he had spent his early days in the Temple of Burn. Knew about how he joined the wardens. Hood’s balls, she even knew about the time he had inadvertently run through the temple in nothing but his undergarments.

He had simply left out the one detail.

“Arl Eamon raised me. He raised me because….I...he was King Cailan’s uncle.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“And so he was helping. He was helping his sister and her husband.”

“Alistair, are you - what are you saying? That you’re the king?” It was difficult to read her tone of voice, especially looking down at the ground.

“No! Hood’s balls, no...I mean. I could be, I guess. But I don’t want to be. I’m not. I’m just a bastard - the royal kind, not the regular kind, and Arl Eamon raised me.”

He chanced a look at her. The confusion didn’t bother him so much, but the sting there, just under the surface; he cursed himself for his caution, his stupidity.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Did he imagine the slight catch in her voice? That awful choking sound that betrayed her true feelings on the subject - he had kept it from her. He tried not to linger too long on wondering why she would be upset about that - she was his commander now was all. Duncan had known, after all.

He watched as her posture shifted, her face along with it, and he felt a crack form in his chest when he realized she was transforming from Elissa to Shield Anvil before his eyes. She inhaled slowly, “Does Loghain know?”

He winced, shrugged, “I...don’t think so.”

She nodded, hands going to her dual pommels, “Very well. So long as he’s unaware of your potential claim on the throne-”

“I don’t want it!” he repeated.

She gave him a look that silenced his protest, “So long as he’s unaware, I don’t believe there is any greater danger. It is likely, however, that the Arl here will push for you to take the throne.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to him until just now, and he recoiled, “He wouldn’t...he’s popular with the people. He is Cailan’s uncle.”

“And you are his half brother. Alistair, it’s something you have to consider, that he will ask you,” she held up a hand before he could protest again, “I’ll not force you to do anything you do not wish to do, but you know it will come up. Take a moment. We’ve still some tasks to break down the camp, so you may take your time.”

She turned and walked away, and with each step, his heart sank deeper into his chest. Whatever they had built between them was suddenly gone. Elissa had slid into the shadows, as she did when fighting, there but somehow invisible. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He had only...thought of himself. Proof that he was unfit to rule, unfit to lead, unfit for her. He dug the toe of his boot into the dirt before him, having nothing nearby to hit.

* * *

Wynne was surprised to be asked to accompany the Shield Anvil and her small retinue into the town, being the newest member of her strange group. Alistair joined them, as well as Sten, who seemed to be Elissa’s permanent shadow and bodyguard, while Morrigan and Leliana advised that they would join the others in town shortly, wishing to scout the area around them.

They were all three surprised at the empty streets they found in the large town, houses barred shut, and large fire pits still smoking with red embers.

Two armored men stood by the fire, ensuring it did not spread, and it was they who explained the situation to Elissa - Darkspawn, or something very much like them, had been seen at night. Those that were left were in the temple, along with Bann Teagan (at whose name Alistair seemed to perk up), and they should look for answers there.

Elissa led them to said temple, a monument erected to T’riss, and they found the Bann directing a meager force of armored men and the lay-women of the temple.

“Bann Teagan I presume?”

The Bann was younger than the Arl, if memory served. He was a broad-shouldered man with red hair that was loose to his shoulders, lightly armored, and gracing the woman who approached with the slow smile of a man who knew what he liked and certainly liked what he saw.

“I am, and who may I ask, is the beautiful woman with whom I am speaking?”

Elissa graced the man with a smile of her own, “Elissa Cousland,” she offered her hand, which the Bann took in his own and placed a lingering kiss over her knuckles.

After which Elissa, looking like a cat who was about to pounce, continued, “Shield Anvil of Fener.”

Teagan straightened immediately, eyes now focused in a different manner, as he studied the woman, “The mystery only deepens, then. What brings the Shield Anvil to Redcliffe?”

Despite his change in tone and disposition, Elissa’s hand was still gripped in his, and Wynne noticed Alistair’s steely focus on the point of contact between them. Well it seemed drama existed outside of the circles of the temple, even within the Order of the Grey.

“I come seeking the Arl. Darkspawn approach, perhaps led by a reawakened Eleint, and my Order - all two of us remaining - have been labeled betrayers of the king, a false accusation I mean to see rectified. I will not mince words, Bann Teagan - I need an army.”

That smile appeared on the man’s face again; he seemed to appreciate her directness. And then he cast his eyes, finally, beyond her, to Alistair, and his face slackened with shock, “Alistair? Is that you?”

The man in question stepped forward, and Wynne did not imagine the way he straightened to his full height, giving him a couple of inches on the other man, “It’s me, uncle.”

Teagan dropped Elissa’s hand to clap Alistair’s shoulder and bring him into a hug. Alistair looked surprised at the overt display of affection but returned it regardless.

“I wish these were better circumstances,” he sighed, releasing the larger man, “and I wish I could offer you what you need, but we have problems of our own.”

“Darkspawn attacks at night. We’ve heard,” Elissa’s warm familiarity had dropped.

Wynne judged the Shield Anvil’s age barely more than 20, if that, and here she was commanding the respect of a man at least ten years her senior, perhaps more. Alistair was the only one close to her in age within their own group, and still they were content to follow her. She was destined for great things; that was clear enough, and this would be but one more test.

“Perhaps,” the Bann corrected, “It’s as if...the dead themselves have been raised.”

“Necromancy?” Wynne stepped in now. No doubt Elissa could hold her own in a fight, but she did not know magic and had made that clear.

“Perhaps. We’ve no adepts here who could say one way or the other, but…”

It was rare magic, and it was largely frowned upon, but it was not inherently wrong. The problem with anything like Necromancy was that those most commonly drawn to the idea of raising corpses out of the ground were the people who were the least ideal to do so.

“Elissa,” she turned to face the woman in question, “I’d like to walk the town, see if I can sense Hood’s warren, outside of the obvious. Determine if these are Darkspawn or something else.”

Elissa gave her a nod, then gestured to the Bann, “Is there somewhere more private we can speak?”

The smile the man returned was very nearly lecherous, “I thought you’d never ask. Of course, follow me.”

Alistair was right on their heels, but Wynne couldn’t stay to watch the continued drama. She had a warren to sniff out.

* * *

Elissa was half involved in the conversation, lending a smile here, a light touch there, enough to keep the Bann talking. It wasn’t difficult - he was a charming and attractive man - but she had half her focus on the coming darkness, a plan to keep them all alive. Fun could come later. She had learned the hard way what could happen when she put pleasure ahead of duty.

“You said the knights were sent out where?”

Teagan sighed, leaned away from where their hands had drifted together, “I don’t know for certain. They were sent to seek out blessings from somewhere. There were rumors…and now the Arl is terribly ill.”

Alistair motioned to the door through which they had walked, “Wynne is a High Denul healer. Perhaps she can-”

“Alistair,” Teagan interrupted, “the cost would be too great.”

Her brother-warden’s face twisted in anger, “Is it not worth an attempt, at the very least?”

She wasn’t sure if it was the right move, and the way he flinched away made her think it was wrong, but she touched his forearm, “Alistair. Let’s focus first on what is happening at night. And we’ll find a way to help Eamon.”

He stared at her, and his look made her swallow hard. She slowly withdrew her hand but could not break her gaze from his, “I promise. We will find a way.”

Teagan cleared his throat, and she found herself reluctant to pull away from the deep gold-hazel stare, even lit with anger as it was, but she managed, “Have any of the knights returned?”

The Bann looked between them and sat back, “A small handful, yes. And we’ve a militia that may have some fight left in it, but they’ll need some help.”

Elissa offered a smile, “Well that’s what we do.”

She had enough information now. She stood, “Teagan, do you wish to accompany us?”

The look he passed over the two of them was subtle but clear enough. He offered a small smile, “I’ve business to attend to here. But if you need me, my lady,” he purred, “I will be here.”

She returned his smile, “I’ll come back before night falls.”

They were back outside before Alistair approached, leaning down, reminding her of his impressive height, “What are we going to do Elissa?”

She very nearly stepped away, but she wrestled herself into staying still, “We are going to speak with the knights who are here and the militia leader, and we are going to save as many as we can, and then we are going to find out what is ailing Eamon, so we can find a cure.”

There was a spark in his eyes at her words, and she felt, for just an instant, that he was going to kiss her. He licked his lips; she saw the movement in her periphery, but he didn’t lean in, just nodded, and after an eternity that was only a second, they broke away to follow through on her plan.

The mayor of the town was the man who had been named the militia leader; Murdock was in the yard, a welcome distraction from the heady moment that passed between them. He was a large man with reddish brown hair and a full beard, speaking a rough brogue with some archers.

Elissa approached, allowing him to finish his conversation before addressing him, “Bann Teagan has asked that I help you make preparations for this night.”

She felt the appraisal, “Oh? So you’re the Grey Warden, are you? I didn’t think they _made_ women wardens.”

Alistair grunted beside her, but before he could respond, she shrugged, “I don’t think the Darkspawn care who kills them.”

Murdock blinked at her, the tiniest twitch of his mouth lifting the corner, “Well I supposed that’s true. I won’t turn aside anyone who wants to help. I don’t mean to sound like an ingrate.’

“No,” Alistair deadpanned, “wouldn’t want that. We _are_ here to help, however we can.”

The man nodded, “The name’s Murdock. I’m the mayor of what’s left of this village. Providing we aren’t all killed tonight.”

Elissa frowned, eyed the small number around them, and put on her most confident smile, “Take heart now. We will defeat this evil together."

“I,” he started to protest then sighed, “I hope you’re right. I’ve been trying to hold us together, but it isn’t easy. Anyhow, you’re here, and they tell me you’re in charge.”

Word travelled quickly, then, she mused, biting back the frown at his final words. Why was it always her? It wouldn’t do to dwell. It was clear enough that there was work needed doing.

* * *

Teagan received updates throughout the day from within the temple, where he was helping to build barricades for the windows and secondary entrances. In a single day, Elissa, the Shield Anvil, had managed to sober up Owen, who had then managed to repair the arms and armor of the militia men who would be fighting outside the temple doors.

She had recruited Dwyn and his bodyguards to the cause. He had not a clue how she had been able to pull that off, but the veterans were outside, standing apart from the militia, but there all the same. 

Rumor had it she had even talked the innkeep into providing free drinks for the men who would be fighting - not enough to get them drunk, but enough to make them brave.

And for the knights, in addition to oil barrels to lay a trap for foes coming from the hillside, she had granted them a blessing of Fener. Whether or not it held any weight, he wasn’t sure, but it seemed to help morale.

Speaking of morale, she had also seen to a rousing speech for the men. He hadn’t heard what she said, but all in the temple heard the roar of applause that came from outside after her words.

He had all but lost hope, and then she had arrived, bringing resolve, strength, and grace along with her. Hood take him, but she was gorgeous, as well, and he could not help his shameless flirting. If they had met under other circumstances, then perhaps…but they had not, and so he continued his work.

* * *

Most of the houses that Wynne approached were empty. Almost the entire village had stuffed themselves into the temple, while others had fled. The only taste of Hood came from the bodies of those that had already died.

The fevered rot of Chaos, however, was practically pouring down from the castle. The castle, which had barred its gates, according to what they had learned. The castle, where no one had entered or exited for the better part of two weeks.

Something was wrong here. Something awful was happening. Warrens were involved, but Hood was not. These were Darkspawn. That much was clear.


	13. Redcliffe Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and her companions have rallied the troops, and they lead them in the fight to defend Redcliffe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooo boy have I been distracted during this quarantine. Lots of work and lots of other ideas. I'm glad I worked on so much of this before.
> 
> I hope if you are reading this you are safe and healthy!

The plan was in place, all requests fulfilled, and the village waited with bated breath.

Sten had been dismissed upon arrival to the temple to join Leliana and Morrigan on their reconnaissance and return to the village itself. He was not surprised to find, on their return, that Elissa had made it her personal duty to see that all preparations were in place.

She had convinced the blacksmith to sober up enough to repair the arms and armor of the militia, recruited some experienced fighters to join the cause, and even provided a blessing to the knights.

And now she was giving a rousing speech, pulling guttural war cries from the farmers and fishermen who were taking up arms.

Alistair inspected a line of makeshift troops, checking their shields, correcting armor straps.

Morrigan and Leliana had been attached one to each unit, Wynne was on the bluff above, supporting the few knights that would be guarding the road to and from the castle.

And Sten stood behind Elissa, watching the horizon, the sun dipping slowly beyond, as she spoke to a man with red hair.

“If they get into the temple, you and the guards will be the only line of defense.”

“You could join me, Lady Cousland.”

Sten almost laughed.

“No need to use that title, Bann. I stripped it from myself when I joined the Order, and Fener certainly isn’t bothered with it.”

A fog was rolling down from the castle, and one of the men shouted.

“Teagan, go now.”

“Be safe.”

Elissa nodded to him, and as bidden, the man returned to the temple.

“He wishes to bed you.”

She snorted, “Doesn’t everyone?” She didn’t wait for his response, instead stepping before the crowd, “Men! Prepare yourselves! You have come this far, and they will go no further. The terror that has been thrust upon Redcliffe Village ends tonight.”

A roar went up among those assembled, and then the first sounds of battle began above.

* * *

Wynne had been at Ostagar, and she didn’t know if she was ready to see battle wounds again, but she would hold her own.

As the fog approached, the knights began to shift, eyes darting, unable to land on anything solid. Just before it reached the barricades up the hill from their location, she crushed the acorn that Leliana had handed to her before she joined the men on the ridge.

The clouds dissipated, and from the clearing moisture, Darkspawn emerged.

The creatures, foul, sharp toothed, bearing crude weapons, battered against the makeshift barricades, only to find the sharp ends of swords thrust from just beyond by the knights.

The first wave was dealt with quickly. The second wave began a mad scramble over their own fallen, climbing over the corpses and attempting to scurry over the wood and barbed wire. Some of them snagged on the points, others were driven back again by swords, but as the waves continued, some of them made it over.

The clash of metal on metal began, brutish iron meeting polished steel with a ringing that she could feel in her teeth.

Archers further back began to fire into the Darkspawn units beyond, arrows dipped in oil and set aflame before launching.

This was but a fraction of their total numbers, but it felt like an endless tide, and soon enough, she had her first task.

The two knights assigned to carry the wounded to the dark windmill arrived with a young man holding his arm tightly, red seeping between his gauntleted fingers.

“Set him down here,” she barked, and set to work.

Her warren was rife with chaos, but she was practiced. She drew the healing energy, knitting the skin and muscle and veins back together in the man’s shoulder. He cried out for a moment, head tossing from side to side. It was, overall, a minor wound, and he would face almost no ill effects, except to be thrust back into the fray.

Her night was only just beginning.

* * *

Sten was not pleased to be on the ridge, instead of in the village, where he thought he could best be of use, but he had pledged to fight for Elissa, and this is where she had asked him to be, once the sounds of battle were clear.

When the fighting started in earnest, he understood why.

The Darkspawn were coming from the lake and coming down the mountain. The knights, this ridge, were the only thing standing between that small force below and being pinned on two flanks.

He felt Emurlahn’s child warren flicker below, knew that the fighting there was fully pitched, as well.

He pushed his way to the front of the shield wall, his spear thrusting unerringly, ripping through the Darkspawn that would fall upon those below.

They would not get through him.

* * *

Alistair had his doubts about this militia, but he knew better than to let it show. These men were desperate, hanging on by a thread, one provided by Elissa’s words and deeds and little else.

“A little higher, yes, like that,” he offered to a burly man who must have worked fields for most of his life.

From the ridge above came the first sounds of battle, and then the same fog appeared on the edge of the lake.

“Blessed Queen of Dreams, here they come,” a voice sobbed from down the line.

The few civilians still in the yard began to shriek, cry, and sprint to the temple. The even fewer guards there ushered them in, giving a grateful nod to those remaining without before pulling the heavy doors closed.

It was time.

Alistair took a steadying breath, shook his arms at his sides. He would be the point of the spear of his unit of heavies. So long as the ragtag fighters kept to the plan, it would work.

Elissa had pulled their faster moving fighters, along with the Mabari - her own and those from the village - to the flank, and the plan was simple enough. They would press them fast and hard, pushing the main body into the heavy ranks standing with Alistair. It was a classic maneuver, and they had the advantage of fighting Darkspawn - not known for their tactics or intelligence.

They overwhelmed with numbers, and that was the only worry Alistair had, given their paltry force.

Better than six, at the very least, and those six he would trust against any foe.

He had lost sight of Leliana and Morrigan both, but that wasn’t a bother to him. In truth both women scared him; something about mages, especially very powerful ones, seemed to require a bit of madness.

When the first rumbling sounded, and Alistair, along with his small band of heavies, watched the boulders and rocks shaking then rolling into a single location, he confirmed his suspicions. The rocks bounced over one another, coming together to form a shape, vaguely humanoid, with boulders for a body, large rocks making up legs and arms, sharp crystalline structures erupting over its shoulders. Somehow, unbelievably, it opened eyes that definitely saw them, and then it turned silently to face the oncoming mass.

“Hood’s balls,” the burly farmer behind him muttered, and Alistair agreed.

Things moved quickly after that.

To his left, he could already hear Elissa’s units engaging with the enemy. He chanced a glance over. They were moving swiftly, and if he concentrated, he could see the shadows dancing around the Shield Anvil, as she spun her dance of death. He had heard stories of warriors, assassins, trained in this way, mostly from other wardens who had traveled further than he. Seeing Elissa move on the battlefield, he wondered if perhaps she was one of these fabled fighters.

Her archers, what few they had, were stationed on the high, wooden walkways that surrounded the buildings built on the lakeside. As the Darkspawn swarmed into the narrow areas between, the archers rained death upon them.

“Ready, men!” He shifted his stance, heard the sound of shields being made ready, just as the bulk of attackers began pouring into the village.

His troops were spared the initial clash, with the mighty stone giant ahead of them, but they came all the same, and the fighting began.

* * *

Leliana found that despite her better judgment, she liked working with Morrigan. The hedge mage had an in with all of the local spirits, and she could admit her casting was stronger when supported by them. There wasn’t enough time to study her ways, though, much to her chagrin, and the Darkspawn were coming now.

She looked down at the small doll that Morrigan had shoved into her hands before going off to her own unit, “Use this for what you’re planning.”

When the fog began, she knelt by the water, stuck the doll into the soil and covered it in mud, reaching for her powers and spinning them, twisting them, speaking form into the land around them with the language of Tennes.

Her success answered her with the unique scraping sound of rocks stacking, rolling, taking shape. She could do no more, however; they were coming.

She fell back to her position, launching up the wooden steps to one of stilted houses, where she had arranged her materials. She was no battle mage, preferring to work in her own time, behind the scenes. But she and Morrigan were all this cobbled together fighting force had, and she would do whatever she could.

The heavies had their support now, and she had one more surprise for the night, but it had to be timed just right.

* * *

Morrigan knew what most people thought of hedge mages - witches of the wilds, they called her and her mother, the people who practiced the old ways. She worked magic through the ancient, crumbling remains of the holds, precursors to the warrens. She asked the spirits of the earth to work with her, to lend their ancient power, ancient knowledge to her weaving.

Her mother had told her that the holds were ancient, rarely in use anymore, and in some lands not even known any longer, and their power was thought gone entirely, their ascendants missing.

It was this power that she drew on now, rubbing the sandy mud of the lake on her arms, her legs, murmuring to the spirits.

The hold of beasts was the magic of instinct - fight or flight, the raised hackles of an animal cornered, that final burst of violence.

She bared her teeth, called on the empty throne - she had heard the howling before the warden appeared. So had Flemeth. The thrones would be empty no longer. Soon.

But for now, this would do.

As the mud dried, she breathed deep and reached for her secret weapon, the true talent that her mother taught her, that kept them safe from witch hunters.

There were some holds that even the new, young ascendants had forgotten, powers too volatile to trust. To most.

The name Mael was not even remembered by those outside of the Korcari wilds, even then it was rare, but Flemeth, and her daughter, held to the oldest of ways.

Standing on one of the wooden platforms, she approached the edge, knife in hand. She held out her arm, let it hover over the water, and drew the sharpened blade over the skin. The blood poured into the lake. This particular one, Calenhad, was deep.

“Mael,” she muttered, repeating the name, as the red disappeared into the water. And the water started to bubble.

* * *

There was nothing but the hunger.

Hunger and pain.

And so it drove on. It tore and ripped. Pulled, shred, mangled, severed. But the hunger and pain never went away.

It was close now to its goal, to the warm blood underneath warm skin that it could split into. It snarled its intentions.

And then it was falling. Soil and water filled its mouth, its nose, its lungs, and with it came blessed darkness. An end to the hunger. An end to the pain.

* * *

Elissa was busy when the ground opened up beneath the Darkspawn spewing from the lakeshore, but she saw it in her periphery and smiled. It gave her lighter fighters a moment to breathe, to disengage and regroup. These were not trained troops, after all.

She was focused on her battle rhythm, the dance of shadow, of death thrumming through her.

When she accepted the fallen, she was Fener’s, but when she fought, she felt different. She felt ethereal, half here and half not, like a shadow, flickering in and out with the beat of her heart.

The night was long; it would be longer still, and with the dawn, her duties would not yet be done.

* * *

The sun’s rays ascended over a blood soaked village. Wounded were corralled by the doors of the temple, the dead left where they had fallen, and around it all, piles of Darkspawn corpses.

Elissa was standing, breathing hard in the center of the temple’s courtyard, blood and gore dripping from the ends of her blades.

Leliana, pale and shaking, stumbled from a house where she had taken shelter to perform the last of her magic.

Morrigan emerged from the lake, mud still caked on her arms and chest.

Wynne was on the ridge, slumped against a wooden post in the windmill, where she had passed out early that morning, curing a knight of a belly wound. Sten sat on a hay bale by her side.

Alistair’s left arm was numb. He dropped his shield, sheathed his sword, and made his way slowly to the side of the Shield Anvil.

She was spinning now in a slow circle, taking in the carnage. She dropped to her knees, “I will embrace you.”

* * *

To say that he had been tense would be an understatement. Bann Teagan had prepared himself to die within the temple walls, giving hope to the last of the villagers of his brother’s arling. He had pictured it - the doors trembling against the weight of countless Darkspawn hurling themselves at them.

But that moment never came.

He emerged, with the rest of the village, into the light of day to see many of their people still standing. Water was receding from close to the temple’s courtyard, bodies sinking into wet sand. The priestess of the temple ushered those who were injured inside to tend to them. Women and children who had waited all night ran to their husbands and fathers.

Elissa Cousland, Shield Anvil of Fener, was on her knees, chin to her chest, in the midst of it all.

She and her followers - Alistair among them; Alistair! - had done the impossible.

They were not without their losses. The screams of anguish made that clear enough. But the village would survive, and everywhere he looked, Darkspawn bodies far outnumbered their own.

He thought to approach this woman who had saved them, but he stopped at the sight of Alistair moving to her side. Her fellow warden, limbs shaking from a night of fighting, stood at her back, shield strapped once more to his arm.

“Alistair, you’re alright!”

He approached from the side announcing his presence.

“This may take a moment, and she could use some rest,” was all he offered, eyes not leaving the kneeling woman before him.

“Of course,” Teagan agreed and turned. He could ensure that she had that at least. But there was more yet to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Beast Hold: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Beast_Hold
> 
> Mael: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Mael


	14. Redcliffe Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Redcliffe as safe as it's going to be without finding the root cause of the probably plaguing them, Elissa and her companions join Teagan on a mission to the castle to find Arl Eamon. Things do not go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picked up a few extra chapters towards the end of the line. Finally in Denerim! I have also been a little crazy with my LA By Night stuff, so...here we are. I think I only have like 5 more chapters to go before this is fully written. WOAH.
> 
> This particular chapter I wrote months and months ago. Reading it now to edit and post was...strange. I hope everyone reading is healthy and safe!

Elissa was tired of waking up this way - heavy with the memory of sorrow from so many who died. She had been worried that morning, when she felt the grief gathering, that Fener would turn them away - they were not wardens, but they died as soldiers, and so she was able to fulfill her duty.

She rolled onto her side with a groan; she was exhausted, but she had a team that must also be worn out. Confirming her suspicion, she noticed Alistair sprawled on the sleeping mat beside her, face buried in a makeshift pillow, his hand stretched out toward her.

Beyond him Morrigan and Leliana were on their own sleeping mats. Strangely, the stone creature that Leliana had conjured prior to the battle was there, too, standing nearby. She turned and found Sten in a chair, leaning against the wall, dozing, Wynne stretched on a bench next to him.

Calm washed over her, and she smiled. They had made it through. When she turned back, Alistair’s eyes were open.

She tucked her hands under her cheek and stared at him for a moment; he looked back, mouthed, “You alright?”

She nodded. He smiled.

She let the peace settle over her, allowed herself a chance to savor it. Alistair’s fingers twitched toward her, and she moved her own hand toward it. Inches away, but that distance seemed to stretch, and then the world caught up.

Expectations seeped in. Duty called.

She saw in Alistair’s face when it caught him, too. He sighed, nodded, and they both sat up, began the business once more of saving the world.

* * *

Wynne had appreciated the rest. At some point she remembered Sten carrying her down into the village proper, through the doors of the temple, and settling her on a bench. When she woke, Elissa sat with Bann Teagan, speaking quietly over tea, while Alistair planned with the militia leaders from the night before. Rebuilding efforts would begin soon.

Much of the night prior was a blur. She had managed to keep most of the knights alive, and those she couldn’t save never made it to her makeshift tent anyway.

She was spent.

Whatever was happening here, it had to end without her interference. But Elissa needed to know what she had found yesterday.

She inhaled, pushed herself up, and made her way, unsteady but purposeful, to the table, “Elissa?”

The woman in question turned and smiled, standing immediately upon seeing her and offering the chair she just exited, “Wynne, please, sit.”

“I’m not so frail and old that I need to be coddled,” she bristled, but Elissa just laughed and nudged her into the chair regardless.

“I hear you worked miracles up on that ridge. The knights have done nothing but sing your praises.”

“Yes, well, just wait until the forced healing catches up to them.”

Both Teagan and Elissa grimaced at the reminder of the cost of Denul. Those who had had minor wounds would probably be ok, but anyone whose injuries were close to serious would be having a difficult morning at the very least.

“That’s not what I’m here about anyway. Yesterday I wandered the village, looking to find something to tie back the supposed undead to Hood. Of course there were no undead. Just Darkspawn.”

Teagan looked away at that. He had been deceived - it wasn’t his fault, and Wynne knew it.

“I found no flavor of Hood, but there was Mockra.”

Recognition flashed in the Bann’s eyes, “Mockra? You are absolutely sure?”

Wynne nodded.

“Does that mean something to you Teagan?” Elissa leaned over the table.

Before he could answer, the doors of the temple opened, and a woman walked in. She had the look of nobility about her, light brown, almost golden hair pulled back into a severe bun, dressed in finery heretofore unseen in the temple. That alone would have been enough to peg her, but as if to prove the point, the locals froze, stepped back, some bowed their heads.

“Teagan?” The woman cried, her accent clearly Orlesian, “Teagan you must come with me!”

The Bann stood, “Isolde? What…? What is happening?”

Alistair had returned to Elissa’s side with the woman’s appearance; his expression made it clear that he recognized her.

“Teagan, you must come to the castle with me. Please. It’s Connor.”

Teagan frowned, “What do you mean? What’s happened?”

“I was only barely able to get away Teagan; you must come to the castle.”

Elissa cleared her throat, and Wynne smiled just a bit to see the way the room settled. All attention was on her. The Shield Anvil of Fener studied the woman who had approached, straightened, “I assume you are here to congratulate the militia on their fine job defending your lands.”

The woman, Isolde, paled at her words.

* * *

Alistair had not seen Isolde since he was a boy. She had hated him, hated the rumors surrounding his very existence, and she had made that known. Never outright abusive, she had never made him welcome, had at times gone out of her way to ensure he knew he was not.

To see her cower before Elissa sent a petty thrill through him.

Elissa was stately. She held herself with poise and a quiet but unshakable authority, and Isolde’s haughty, demanding attitude withered in the presence of true confidence. 

The village was watching the exchange. Isolde had come to them only after the battle, now demanding the Bann, who had been there to defend them, follow her to the castle. The same castle from which no one had heard word in days, weeks maybe, if the stories were to be believed. For all of her faults, he didn’t think she would be so callous to the people - after having to prove herself not to be an Orlesian spy, she had frequently made overt attempts to win their affections. Begrudgingly he admitted to himself that something must be truly wrong.

Isolde turned to look at those assembled, “You have done what was necessary, and for that the Arl and I thank you.”

It was not enough. That much was clear.

“What is happening at the castle?” Elissa continued, as if Isolde had not spoken.

“Teagan, who is this woman?” Isolde frowned, attempting to look anywhere but at Elissa herself - a task that was proving difficult for the harried Arlessa.

Alistair snorted a laugh despite himself. The Arlessa’s eyes fell on him, followed by a deep frown and a snarled, “And Alistair? What are you doing here?”

Teagan began to speak, “Arlessa, this is -”

“I am Elissa Cousland,” Elissa interrupted, clearly in no mood to play games, nor to be spoken for. She did not mention her position within the Order.

“Cousland?”

“Yes, that’s right. Of Highever,” she added, knowing that it was unnecessary. There were only two Teyrns in Ferelden; one of them was currently in Denerim sitting as an interim ruler, and the other was Elissa’s father.

Isolde blinked owlishly for a moment, “I...see. My lady. It is an honor to meet you. I am Isolde, Arlessa of Redcliffe,” she curtsied, and her years of practice alone made it a smooth motion.

“What is happening at the castle?”

Isolde’s face crumpled, and she looked once more at Teagan, “It’s...Connor. It’s just awful. This isn’t like him. Please, Teagan, you must come with me.”

Alistair could see the snap just on the edge of Elissa’s tongue. Teagan must have seen it, too, because he cleared his throat, “Isolde. We will accompany you.”

“He said it could only be you. Because you are family.”

“Then we will definitely accompany,” Elissa said, her tone almost cheerful but brooking no argument, and Alistair again thrilled to see the authority figures of his youth cowing to his fellow warden.

Without waiting for the Arlessa to speak again, she turned to him, hand on his arm, “If you would gather the others. We’ll leave as soon as possible. Thank you, Alistair.”

He didn’t imagine the pointed look she gave Isolde after the exchange.

* * *

Redcliffe castle was well maintained, solid, but it was small compared to the Cousland home in Highever. A tiny part of Elissa wanted to mention, to be that petty, spiteful girl, after seeing the way Isolde had spoken to Alistair, the look in his eyes - as if shame cloaked him when Isolde looked at him, a way to become invisible in plain sight.

She said nothing however; she kept her chin held high, her mouth shut, and her focus cool and direct. Pettiness would win no favors, and what’s more, the squabbles between her fellow warden and this woman from his past did not loom so large as the desperate situation in which they found themselves now.

“He will be angry,” Isolde was muttering, and Elissa wondered at how paranoid the woman was. 

“Where is Eamon?” Teagan was pressing, the question repeated for what had to be fifth time now, and as with the previous times, the Arlessa ignored it.

Things were... off. That much was clear. And when they walked through the doors to the interior, Leliana’s hand wrapped around her arm, fingers digging in almost painfully, as she hissed, “The Chained One.”

Elissa nodded shortly, but kept her attention on the lady of the house, “You said that someone named Connor was not acting himself.”

Isolde ignored her question, as she had ignored all of Teagan’s before, and if the situation were even slightly different, she would grab the woman and shake her until some sense entered the thick skull of hers. Elissa had grown up around noble girls, recalcitrant and naïve of the dangers of the world, unable to cope under stress. She wanted to feel empathy, maybe even pity, but all she felt was frustration and rage. They needed answers, Hood take it all, and the only one potentially capable of answering them was impossible to engage.

“Connor is her son, Lady Cousland,” Teagan offered, clearly trying to keep the peace or perhaps grant some insight into her near catatonic state.

“Isolde I cannot help you, if you do not speak to me,” she tried through gritted teeth.

“He is an Adept, my lady,” Teagan continued, eyes on Isolde, “of Mockra.”

The attempts at empathy failed. Fury filled her. The source of the fog that had covered the Darkspawn, the inability of the people of Redcliffe to identify what they were, “You didn’t think to mention?”

Teagan paled at her words and tone, and she knew they were unfair. He was not able to distinguish himself between what had been an illusion and what had been real, and before he could respond to Wynne’s announcement earlier, the Arlessa had appeared.

“Mommy! Mommy who are these people?” A child, not yet a teen but old enough that the petulant tone of the boy was almost mocking in its naïveté, came down the stairs, his eyes filled with anger, as he looked at each of them in turn. 

Isolde scrambled to the bottom of the stairs, looking back at them and at the boy, “Connor. They are the people that saved Redcliffe village. Teagan thought you would like to meet them. To thank them.”

Connor’s eyes studied them intently, “I don’t like that one,” he shouted, pointing directly at Elissa.

She wasn’t exactly disappointed, not interested in the approval of a ten year old boy, but something was clearly looking through his eyes, and Leliana’s warning started to hold even more weight. Isolde, already pale, went white as a petal of Andraste’s Grace, “This is Lady Cousland, my darling. She is from Highever.”

“We’ve come to wish your Arl well, sir,” she added to the Arlessa’s desperate plea, stepping forward and putting on the air of a noble, as opposed to a soldier.

“Well why didn’t you say so, mother?” He sneered, then looked back at Elissa, “Father is upstairs. But he is very sick.”

Elissa nodded gravely, “And I was sorry to hear it.”

“Very well,” Connor shrugged before offering them a twisted grin, “but only you may go.”

Already she could hear the arguments forming behind her. She smiled, “Thank you. You are very generous. If you don’t mind just a slight delay, I’ll see my companions off? I’ve errands for them to run.”

The boy waved dismissively at her and wandered back up the stairs, disappearing down the hall.

Before the protests could be spoken aloud, she looked pointedly at the door, “Arlessa, I will return shortly.”

* * *

Morrigan thought for sure that if Alistair were a dog, he would have snapped at the boy within. Rood, the Shield Anvil’s own Mabari, was probably better trained. As it was, the young man was foaming at the mouth.

“We haven’t much time,” Elissa was saying lowly, as she pointed to their equipment and the direction of the village, “so pay close attention. And not a word. I’m taking that blade,” and here she removed her sword and took the bundle that held the otataral instead.

“Leliana, Morrigan, Wynne, I hate to ask-“

“We’ll look for a way to clear the corruption,” Leliana nodded, as if Morrigan hadn’t already started listening for spirits here.

Elissa nodded, “Alistair and Sten, you find another way upstairs. But do not make a move unless it’s clear I’ve failed.”

“Alright, let’s go,” she whispered finally, then louder, “Thank you all again.”

She turned without offering more and walked back in.

Sten’s firm grip on Alistair’s shoulder kept him from following the Shield Anvil, tugging him back to get his attention, “You seem to know this place. How do we get upstairs?”

“I don’t...it’s been years.”

“Elissa is counting on us.”

“The...the servants. They have their own entrance.”

Sten nodded to them all before somewhat gently pushing the other man ahead to lead the way. The women watched them leave, Morrigan shaking her head in annoyance, “As if she can’t take care of herself.”

Wynne smiled, “I think it’s sweet.”

“You’ve only just joined us,” Morrigan muttered bitterly.

Leliana was staring up at the stone walls, digging through a small bag and pulling out a piece of bone, “Quiet, both of you.”

She was holding the bone up to her ear, listening. Morrigan sucked her teeth and turned away with an eye roll - Leliana and her little tricks. Just send a creature; no need to stand on such ceremony.

Wynne seemed content to ignore her, as well, “I am spent. Though I would be little help anyway, I fear.”

“Hood’s balls,” Leliana hissed at them, “she is upstairs. Be quiet.”

As if realizing for the first time that distance may help to lessen the noise level, the other mage moved away from them, stepping into a small alcove of the yard. It dawned on Morrigan then that no guards were present, no armed men or women roaming or monitoring the courtyard. They hadn’t been standing long, but it was long enough to know that they were not, in fact, going anywhere.

For the first time since arriving she wondered just what exactly was happening here. She inhaled slowly and breathed out, letting her breath, and the energy within it seek out small lives - rats, mice, bats, anything that would be tucked away and easy to control.

There were plenty of options, all tiny minds flitting through walls or across silent floors, seeing everything and never seen. Simple enough for her to hitch a ride, borrow their eyes, their ears, their powerful noses.

Mockra - the warren of illusion - held no sway over their feeble brains, and most mages ignored their presence. Morrigan would reap the benefits of that oversight.

She spotted Elissa with the eyes of a mouse, urging it to follow, keeping to the drapes that would obscure it from view. But like the courtyard, the second floor of the castle was empty. No one else was asking where those people had gone, but Morrigan was increasingly concerned about the absence. 

Elissa continued down the hall, her stride confident, until she reached a closed door, which she tested. It opened, and she peered inside before stepping in. Morrigan’s mouse followed suit, slipping around the door frame and ducking under a small table, from which she could watch what happened. It was a struggle for just a moment; the stench of death was coming from that place, not rot yet, but waiting the die, and the creature, understanding that where death is coming, it may come for all nearby, did not wish to follow.

On the large, four-post bed that dominated the center of the room, a frail form was stretched beneath blankets, propped on pillows. The breathing coming from the man, most likely the Arl, rattled, wet with congestion. Elissa recoiled slightly, hand going to her nose. Still she leaned over the bed, “Arl Eamon?”

There was the no response.

The mouse felt vibrations - something coming. Large, but not as large as some of the others. Connor, the boy, stepped into the room and stood stock still. The mouse shook, and it took more effort than it should to keep it rooted to the spot. Morrigan soothed it; we are hidden, she whispered into its primal brain, he cannot reach us.

“Shield Anvil of Fener,” the boy spoke, his voice different from before. It was no longer whining and high-pitched, but calm and knowing, “you are meddling in things you do not understand. We have an agreement, you see; I am welcome here.”

If Elissa was frightened, she gave little sign, not turning at the voice, “I was unaware. What kind of agreement?”

The boy laughed, “That is between myself and my Fool.”

At that Elissa did turn, “Fool? You are forming a house?”

Another laugh, “That, too, is known only to my followers. You came here to seek help? Allow me to offer it to you.”

Elissa straightened, “Offer help? Against your own army?”

The boy sneered, his face twisting into something much older than his years, “You think you understand what is happening? You are a mortal, scrabbling for things you do not understand.”

“Then explain it to me. Like you might a child,” she challenged with a mocking tone.

The boy paced for a moment, always staring at Elissa, as if studying her, trying to find a weakness. She stood still, eyes on him, though Morrigan was sure she knew the exact number of paces to the door, or even to the window on the far side of the room. 

Morrigan had heard enough, however. Most likely this boy had little more he could add, and it was possible Elissa was in danger, though unlikely. Also unlikely the thought of such a young boy making a deal with a god - they needed to get that damned woman to speak in more than a single, shouted sentence.

* * *

Sten was concerned about the warden. He was not as preoccupied with the situation, however, even with Elissa going upstairs alone to check on their quarry.

“You understand that she is capable of finding what we need, yes?”

“Of course I know that! I also know that something is wrong here.”

Sten sniffed at the air. The corruption was plain, the warm stickiness of the Fallen One’s particular virulent taint was in the very air it seemed. He had sensed it upon walking onto the ground, as had Leliana. That was not news. But they had to find the answers, if they were to raise the army that Elissa needed.

“The Fallen One’s corruption is here. It is prevalent. I suspect it is not a secret to those who live here.”

If Alistair’s tensing posture was any indication, that did little to calm the man.

They had gone nearly 180 degrees around the castle before they found a small door jutting out from a tower. Alistair indicated to it, “Through there. The servants quarters are at the base of this tower, and there are stairs with secondary access points to all floors.”

“We have not encountered any guards,” Sten pointed out, “is this place so ill fortified? Why were you concerned?”

Perhaps it had escaped Alistair’s notice because of his concern, but he looked around now, eyes falling on spots where Sten imagined guards would normally be posted. The warden allowed his shield to slide down his arm slightly, into a ready position, should they encounter a fight, “Where in Fener’s name is everyone?”

“My spear will be of little use to us within.”

“Do you have a backup?”

“I have a dagger.”

Alistair nodded, “Right. I’ll stay to your left, then.”

They approached the door, only to find it ajar. It was not opened wide, but the latch was clearly not in place. Alistair moved to the left side, Sten to the right, dagger ready. Alistair reached out and pushed the door. It moved then jolted to a stop.

They exchanged a look. Alistair moved from his position to the side and pressed his shoulder into the wood. The door creaked, groaned, and he grunted with effort.

“Hoods balls, there’s something blocking the door.”

He leaned in to look and immediately pulled back, gagging and stepping away.

Sten leaned over to peer inside. He had seen many horrors in his life, and this was certainly one to add to the list. Bodies were piled within, some armored, some in peasants clothes. Their faces were twisted in pain. Some of them had boils covering their skin, some still leaking a foul-smelling pus. The smell of shit and urine were strong, and underlying all of that, the beginning of rot.

He stepped away from the door, “We should find the others.”

Alistair, sheer terror in his features, was staring at the second floor, “We have to get to Elissa.”

* * *

Wynne was old enough that the taciturn natures of both Leliana and Morrigan served primarily to amuse her. Morrigan was always aloof, but she had found Leliana to be rather warm when not in the presence of the hedge mage. So it came as little surprise when they emerged from their separate waiting areas simultaneously, both alerting her that the Chained One was here, or at least his agents, and a deal of some sort had been struck.

“I doubt that a boy would have anything to offer the god,” Morrigan started.

“Vitality, a long-term servant that grows with him. It makes sense to me.”

“But would he seek out this power? Doubtful. We should look to the mother. She smells of guilt.”

“Do you truly believe a mother would trade her son to a god?”

“Why not?”

“No. More likely she didn’t know the terms of the engagement. Fool,” Leliana spat, “too many fools approach without understanding the gods are no better than we are about selfishness. Let’s go speak with her.”

Wynne cleared her throat, both women turning to her, as if surprised to see her, “We should perhaps bring Teagan along. She trusts him. Do we know where he is?”

Morrigan’s eyes went pink for a moment, flitting back and forth as if trying to focus on multiple things at once. When they cleared again, she nodded, “A sitting room off of the main hall.”

The three of them re-entered the castle. Wynne supposed, given the circumstances, it would make little sense for them to continue their farce of going back to town. If the boy, or his mother, had truly made a pact with the Chained God, then most likely it had not worked, anyway. 

As promised, they found Teagan sitting in a formal sitting room, hands laced on a bouncing knee, as his eyes flicked up toward the second floor and to the side.

“Where is the Arlessa?” Leliana demanded, though in a tone much softer than one might imagine.

“She has been wandering the rooms,” he explained, “and it looks as though she has been doing the upkeep on the castle. I have not seen any of the servants, nor the guards.”

Morrigan seemed to perk up at that, “Have you asked about that at all?”

“She won’t sit still long enough for me to do so.” 

Wynne tried to picture either of her companions convincing the clearly frightened woman to come speak with them and decided instead to offer her own services, “I will go speak with her. I too have a son; perhaps I can appeal to her in that way.”

Teagan looked relieved. Leliana and Morrigan both seemed at a loss for what to do, with no one to interrogate and no schemes to be planning. The trio made what would be an amusing image, as she left the room to find the lady of the house. 

In truth it wasn’t difficult. She found Isolde standing in the main hall, staring down at the throne seated upon a low dais. Wynne approached slowly and carefully, but she made sure to make noise, so as not to startle the woman, “We birth them into this world, and we lose the ability to truly protect them. That is the curse of motherhood.”

At those words, Isolde turned, nodded fiercely, as her eyes shone, “I only did what I thought was best.”

Wynne stopped a couple of feet away, there to offer comfort if requested, but not crowding her space, “I understand. I had to send my son away. It was the hardest decision I have ever made.”

“Oh, I…that is terrible.”

“It was. It was difficult. He did not wish to go. I did not wish to see him go. But it was, in the long run, better for him. We do the things we must, even when they are hard,” she added, hoping to make plain her meeting.

“I…yes. Yes, I see. We cannot speak here,” was all she said before gathering herself and heading toward the sitting room.

It took little effort to convince the others to join them out in the courtyard, so Wynne found herself once more in the sunlight, its cheer and warmth a contrast to the foreboding, looming oppression of the interior of the castle.

Isolde sat on a bench some ways away from the door, the others around her, though Wynne encouraged them not to crowd.

“Eamon was summoned by Cailan early because of the Blight. I…didn’t want him to go, you see. We are so close to the wilds here - much closer than Denerim, and I thought it foolish of him to take the army and go fight.”

“So you poisoned him?” Morrigan asked, her voice sounding almost impressed.

“No! Of course not. I…I sought out help. I wished to protect him. To protect Redcliffe. I prayed, and I sent a small retinue of our knights to Haven to seek blessings from the temple there. They returned, saying that they had received the blessings. I had no reason not to believe them.”

Haven was not a place that Wynne knew, though that was not so unusual. She was well traveled in her youth, but as she became a more studied learner of Denul, her knowledge had been needed in Kinloch. Haven could be a new town, or it could simply never have come up in her travels.

“The first knight became sick on the road. A flu, he said, no bother. But it was worse than that. Boils began to appear on his skin; he cough was…was so…awful to hear. He was fevered. He died after only two days back at the castle.”

Morrigan scanned the courtyard, clearly thinking the same - a plague. That would explain the lack of servants of guards.

“Forgive me, I know this is difficult,” Wynne pressed, kneeling and placing a hand on the woman’s forearm, “but you do not seem afflicted. Nor your boy.”

Isolde’s eyes brimmed with tears, she stared down at her hands, “I did a reading. It seemed so cruel, to have the Blight right at our doorstep and now a plague. I demanded the castle closed, to avoid its spread, and I sought out the wisdom of the deck. I am not a reader, but we are able to find most anything we need. I hired a man from Kinloch hold to come perform a reading.”

“Who?” Wynne knew that the detail was likely unimportant to what was happening, but she had to know.

“Jowan?”

Sorrow filled her, “And…where is he?”

Isolde’s face crumpled, “He fell ill soon after.”

Perhaps seeing the pain writ on her face, Teagan spoke for the first time, “Isolde. He did a reading…what did he say?”

“I thought that perhaps the Lord had taken notice of us, but Oponn did not appear once in the reading. There was a new house, one I had never seen, and Jowan even was surprised. He seemed scared. And,” here she hiccuped, covered her face, “Oh, Teagan. Connor was on the card!”

The three mages all looked at one another. A new house and new cards had not happened in many years, when the house of Shadow had mysteriously grown.

“What was the house?” Leliana asked, though her tone made it clear she already had a suspicion.

“House of Chains. Connor’s image was on a card for Herald. And…and I was the Fool.”

* * *

Leliana wondered, not for the first time, if she could have done more to prevent all of this. When T’riss had come to her in her dreams and spoken about what lay ahead, she had warned Leliana of the power growing in the houses. She thought she had more time. But here she sat with the blasted fool, in name and title both, who had all but summoned the Chained One to their lands.

But no, that wasn’t right. She had sent people to Haven, to a temple. What temple? They would need to venture there, find out what had happened.

The plague was not Chaos. It was disease, pure and simple, virulent though it may be. Poleil, then? 

Her reverie was broken by the return of Sten and Alistair, the latter looking pale himself, “They’re all dead.”

“So we understand,” Morrigan chided.

“What..happened?” 

“We believe the plague was carried back by knights from Haven,” Wynne supplied.

“Haven? Why were they…?” Alistair’s eyes fell on Isolde, took her in, and his face changed, eyes narrow and voice harsh, “What did you do?”

“Do not speak to me that way! You are nothing but a bastard! I am the Arlessa-”

“Enough.”

Elissa had exited the castle and stood now on the stairs, studying them all as if they were children. Leliana forgot, for an instant, how very young the woman was, so much had she aged in the past weeks.

“Isolde. Keep the castle closed. Teagan, I’m afraid you’ve been exposed and will have to stay here. Wynne?”

Isolde went back to staring at her hands, and Alistair shook with rage. Sten positioned himself between the warden and the Arlessa, as Wynne stood and approached the Shield Anvil.

“Do you think you could do anything for them?”

Wynne shook her head, “I have a feeling my powers would be insufficient to combat this disease.”

Elissa’s frown was deep, “Morrigan? I know you are not a healer, but did your mother teach you anything of poultices, tinctures? Would you and Wynne be able to put anything together?”

Morrigan shrugged, “I am willing to try.”

Elissa nodded, “Get to it. Alistair, Sten, make ready to depart. Leliana, a word?”

The idea of leaving this place made Leliana feel lighter already. She followed Elissa toward the gate, away from the others, “You seem to know this area, and I know you know more than you let on. Don’t bother denying it. I’m not going to ask about it. I just want to know - is there a chance, even a slight one, that we will spread this plague, if we leave?”

That thought had not occurred to her before the question was asked. They knew precious little about what had happened, what was happening, and Leliana hated being in the dark.

“I ask because when speaking to…Connor…it sounded as though we may have a pass. The Crippled God wants something, and for now, he believes us willing to negotiate.”

“You offered to negotiate?” her voice rose, and Elissa gave her a warning look. She lowered her voice, “I do not have to tell you how terrible an idea that is.”

“Clearly I am not going to negotiate. But I was in a room with a man hacking up a lung, and I was not about to deny anything outright.”

That was a fair point and a sound tactical decision.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

“Not good enough. Work with Morrigan and Wynne, whoever you have to. Find me an answer. And if there is even the slightest potential that we could infect others, I need an alternative. A warren, perhaps. I don’t care about the details. Just do it.”

Leliana nodded. A warren may not be a bad idea anyway, but they were getting crowded, and regardless, they would need to move out of range of the town before they could even think of opening one. A map - surely the castle had a map. It would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High House Chains: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/High_House_Chains


	15. Assassins on the road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The companions journey toward Haven, but on the way they are ambushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ZEV! Ok, so with things the way they are, I'm aiming for consistently posting chapters on Fridays. Yaaaay.

“This is a lot of trouble to go through for the aid that we could very likely get directly from Bann Teagan or Isolde,” Morrigan reminded them, if only to see Alistair’s face go sharp in anger, his cheeks going slightly red.

Around them the world was lost to trees, the forest not yet so thick that they could not see beyond the trunks, but they were approaching the mountain passes that would take them up into the snow and the deeper, older forests. Already Morrigan could feel the press of spirits, wilder and stronger than those in the towns below. There was an ancient power here, unnamed for centuries, breathing deep within the mountain; her mother had told her of such things, warned her against calling upon it, but she had always had an urge.

Elissa shrugged, “So I suppose it makes good strategic sense to allow the Chained One to keep its foothold in the middle of the country?”

At that she bristled, “If we kill his servant, he will flee.”

”Last I checked, Gods don’t care so much if people die.”

”You say that, even as the Shield Anvil of Fener?”

“Fener accepts their grief; war creates it. But D’rek does not mourn the rotting corpses that feed him. The Chained One found a mortal to do his bidding, but he would as soon toss the vessel away as fill it,” she warned.

Morrigan was in fact pleased to hear the Shield Anvil speak so. She had nothing personally against Fener, nor what Elissa’s title represented, but fanaticism bored her.

“Regardless,” Elissa continued, “Connor is ten years old, and I will not leave a child to the whims of a broken creature. I may feel for his plight, but I will not condone this.”

The conversation was over, and Morrigan felt that. She fell back to her position, noting with some wonder how they had come to this standard formation, with no prompting. No matter where they went, Elissa’s massive Mabari would run ahead, barking when he found things of interest. Sten kept to the front, with Elissa a few steps behind, Wynne in the middle with Morrigan, and Leliana and Alistair taking up the rear of their small chain. Of course now they had Leliana’s rock creature in tow as well, who would lumber on behind them. The creature spoke, which was all the more disconcerting, requesting that they refer to it as “Shale.”

Given their small number and close proximity, calling it a formation was a favor, but without fail, after breaking their camp and hitting the road each morning, they fell into the same pattern.

Morrigan had little in common with this group, and yet she could not bring herself to break away. Perhaps the mission they were on, the goal toward which they were marching, even if their path was indirect, was sufficient to keep her engaged. But she knew herself, this she prided herself on, and while perhaps the sum of its parts were not the most interesting to her, the whole was fascinating.

Sten, speaking ahead a few yards, broke her reverie, “Ahead.”

As if on cue, Rood returned from his scouting, tail held close, head down in warning, not a friendly sign. Morrigan sighed. It had been long enough since Redcliffe that they had all managed to regain their strength and will, but she thought it would be ok if just this once they could get from point A to point B without it being a literal fight to do so.

Regardless she casually bent down to retrieve some dead leaves from the side of the road. The ancient being could sleep through this one, but she would very likely need the aid of the others.

* * *

They had managed about a day of travel without incident since camping, but Elissa knew they were bound at some point to run into trouble. There were at least three enemies waiting to take her life, and only one of her. They had done nothing to hide their identities or intentions while in Redcliffe, and they had surely gained some good will from that village for their deeds, but desperation made people do terrible things - proof enough in Connor’s predicament.

No time to dwell. She could ponder the hearts of men later.

They were past the point of her having to take control of their engagements tactically. Their fight in Redcliffe had seen to that. Wynne was the only member of their party with extremely limited battle prowess, and she knew to hang back, out of the way. Alistair would move up, she knew, to stand to her left, guarding her as if he himself were a shield. Sten would flow through the shadows ahead of them to flank.

And Leliana and Morrigan both needed no direction from her whatsoever. She could hardly fathom how they came to the ideas they did. After all, Shale was still with them, and it was most definitely sentient. Elissa didn’t know how the creature would react to a fight, but it seemed content to stay close by the mages - very likely handy in case the fighting got too close.

It was, frankly, a relief. Elissa had trained for solo fights that were quick and focused on self-defense. Leading a squad had not been included in her tutelage, much less one with the variety in ranks that she had. She wondered if it was meant to be this easy, to allow your fellows to own themselves and their actions, trust them to know their strengths and weaknesses. For a moment, pain flashed through her - she had never spoken to her father in-depth about his experiences in the war, and he had been known as a brilliant leader. Was this how he handled his own troops?

The path they followed took a bend up ahead, the curve significant enough to obscure the road. Sten gave her a nod before sinking between the trees to cut across the forest floor.

As if on cue, Alistair approached on her left, giving her a look but saying nothing, and Rood paced back out a few yards in front of her.

As it tended to do in these moments, time stretched, and the details melted into her periphery. Elissa was aware of Alistair at her side, aware of Morrigan’s soft speaking, could hear the rumbling steps of Shale - quieter than she would have thought, but still likely to ruin any surprise attack.

She saw the ambush before they arrived and held up a hand, muttering low enough to keep it from the prying ears of their would-be attackers but loud enough for her team, “They may not know we are aware. If we wish to gain an upper hand, let’s continue to give them this misconception.”

She straightened, feigning a relaxed pose, and continued forward.

As if on cue, a woman in a worn dress, hair disheveled, a wild look in her eyes sprinted to them, “You must help! Help me! Our cart’s turned over.”

“Is anyone hurt?” Wynne asked from behind her, and Elissa could hug the woman for her performance, voice edged with urgency.

“I don’t know,” the woman sobbed, “please, hurry.” And she ran off again toward the upturned wagon with barely visible wire tied between it and a tree on the other side of the small path, Elissa and her companions following after at a slower pace.

“I don’t see anyone,” Alistair muttered.

“Probably stretched out on the ground on those two ridges. I had hoped for common bandits, but it seems we’ve found professionals.”

The woman neared the upturned wagon, and a man appeared - difficult to tell from this distance, but very likely one of the Tiste descendants that populated the lands, Dalish most of them were called, though not all. He was armored, blades strapped to him, and Elissa had the most uncanny feeling of seeing some other version of herself, a direction her life may have gone in different circumstances.

She hadn’t time to dwell on that; the man lifted his arm with a knowing smile and gave the signal.

Things happened quickly; they always seemed to happen quickly to her, one moment straddling a handsome young man, and then next fighting her way out of her family home. Walking through the woods to a little known village to help save an Arl’s life, now fighting for her own in same said woods.

As she had suspected, four others seemed to appear from out of the hills on either side, archers with their aim ready and arrows primed. They whistled through the air, a lethal song with accompanying harmonies, just as the man in front of them rushed forward, tossing something towards Alistair.

Alistair, who was quickly shielding them from the arrows on their left flank and did not see it coming. With a shout, Elissa dove, toppling him to the ground and out of the way of the fine, glittering powder. She looked up and snarled at their attacker.

She knew she could safely ignore the archers. Sten was already melting out of the shadows of the trees to close with the ones on her left, and Leliana and Morrigan both were out of sight - a warning to their attackers if ever there was one.

She narrowed her focus, and the man smiled.

The pace, if anything, quickened at that point, everything happening seemingly at once. There was a tempo to battle, one that Elissa had learned as part of her training, and she felt it now.

To her left, Sten had scaled the steep hillside, his spear lashing out in that strange, flexible, twisting way that it had, sweeping the legs of one of the archers and stabbing down. The second archer tried to turn, but it seemed his feet were held firmly in place.

To her right, the archers were madly scrambling down the hillside, as rocks were spitting, rolling out of the ground at its top. Their mad dash led them straight to Shale.

Elissa ignored a feint and blocked a blow. The man facing her was fast, and this needed to be over quickly. Her mother had told her that pride was the most lethal opponent in a duel like this - after all, someone out there is better than you. But maybe you are smarter.

Or, Elissa thought, maybe they are alone, and you are not.

She stayed on the defensive, blocking and taking small shots where she could, giving Alistair time to stand and close on the man’s side. Regardless of the outcome, two against one was difficult, and two well trained fighters against one would spell the man’s doom.

The assassin’s attention did not waver; clearly he felt Elissa was the greater threat.

Behind him, new opponents appeared, another small group of three, closing fast.

“Alistair!”

“On it!”

Before leaving the duel, however, he swung hard with his shield, staggering the man. Elissa seized the opportunity, striking quickly with her blades. Her tempo picked up speed. She saw realization dawn in the man’s eyes - he was a true assassin, then, and could recognize the training for what it was.

A swift pommel blow to his temple had him slumping forward. She ensured he was still breathing before moving forward to engage with the new combatants, but Sten and Alistair had already finished that work. Shale had played its part well, too.

“Huh,” was all Elissa said, “good work everyone.”

Morrigan approached, Leliana and Wynne behind her, “That seemed too easy.”

“We’ve earned an easy one,” Alistair muttered, looking around.

Elissa returned to the unconscious form of her assailant, “He’s well trained, but we had numbers and mages - I doubt he anticipated that. Someone has underestimated us. That’s good. It may not happen again. Let’s clean up, and I want two on him - when he wakes, we’ll find out who employed him.”

* * *

If Alistair thought about it, it made sense to keep the assassin alive, even though he suspected that they both knew who hired the man.

They hadn’t exactly been silent about who they were, their allegiances. Elissa, despite being someone who fought from the shadows, was not someone who would hide from the man branding them traitors. It wasn’t a surprise that by now Loghain would have heard that some of the wardens survived, and more importantly, that they knew exactly what he had done.

Loghain was the only one who could have sent the assassin, except perhaps Arl Howe, if he knew that Elissa specifically was the one making waves in the southern reaches.

His skin crawled with the thought that either of them was sending actual trained killers. Did Loghain know about him? Was he putting Elissa in more danger, or was their mere existence after Ostagar enough of an affront to merit assassination?

Regardless he felt now that in addition to staying alert for Darkspawn, he needed to be looking over his shoulder. The pressure seemed insurmountable. Wasn’t it enough that he had lost the only family he’d ever known?

But then he thought about Duncan, the man’s calm resolve, and he felt mostly ashamed. Elissa stood tall and proud, downright regal, in the face of all of this, and he was floundering at every turn. He wanted to be better, do better, for her, for the memory of the wardens they lost.

There was a groan from where they had deposited the unconscious assassin, “Elissa. He’s waking.”

At his summons, she approached, giving him a nod of thanks, and gazing down at the disarmed man.

Another groan, as he slowly pushed himself up, “What...? I....oh,” he finally trailed off, seeing the legs of their party.

His voice was heavily accented, not Orlesian but certainly not Ferelden.

“I see,” he finally muttered, pushing himself up a bit further, “I must say I expected to wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven’t killed me yet.”

Alistair didn’t imagine and didn’t appreciate the way the strangely accented man’s eyes traveled up Elissa’s legs, her torso, to her face.

Elissa only shrugged, “That could be rectified.”

Never one to overtly threaten; he liked that about her.

And in the face of that, the man only chuckled, “Oh, you’re rather an aggressive little minx. And lovely, too,” he purred.

Elissa’s eyebrow arched at that.

“But if it’s questions you’re planning on asking me, let me save you a little time and get right to the point,” he adjusted himself slightly to a more comfortable position, “My name is Zevran. Zev to my friends,” he added with a wink, “I am a member of the Antivan Crows, sent here with the sole purpose of slaying any Grey Wardens still alive.”

Antiva, then. That explained the accent. And it seemed that neither Alistair’s parentage nor Elissa’s own family name had much bearing on the contract against them. He wasn’t sure if that was a relief or not, now that it came down to it.

“Which I have failed at, sadly,” the man continued with a shrug, or as much of a shrug as he could muster from his position on the ground.

“I have to say I’m happy about that,” Elissa responded flatly.

The man chuckled, “So would I be, in your shoes. For me, however, it sets rather a poor precedent, does it not?”

The words were on the tip of Alistair’s tongue - why should they care? And more important, why was Elissa even allowing him to still speak? But she wasn’t interrupting him.

“Getting captured by one’s target is a tad detrimental to one’s budding assassin career.”

Elissa knelt before their prisoner, not quite eye-to-eye but certainly closer, “Who hired you to kill us?”

“Ah, right to the point. I like that in a woman. Let’s see...a rather taciturn fellow in the capitol. Loghain, I think his name was? Yes, that’s it.”

Elissa frowned up at him, and he nodded slightly. At least there were no surprise new enemies, he thought, but still, it meant they were no secret now. She stood, arms crossed, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Are we quite done here,” Morrigan interrupted, staring down with thinly veiled disgust at Zevran.

Somehow before she even spoke a word, Alistair knew that their party would be growing once more. The idea made him seethe, even before she said anything.

“Why are you even telling me this?”

Zevran shifted his weight again to better speak with her face-to-face, “It is in my best interest to do so. I was not paid for my silence, and well, here’s the thing. I failed to kill you. If you don’t kill me, the Crows will. And the thing is, I like living. You are obviously the sort who will give the Crows pause, so I propose you allow me to work for you, instead.”

Elissa laughed - not a soft chuckle, but an actual bark of laughter, and for a shining moment, Alistair had hope. She would dispatch with this assassin, and they could continue on, though admittedly it was likely they would have more assassins coming after them.

“You certainly don’t lack for confidence, _Zev_.”

At her use of his nickname, Zevran smiled and Alistair frowned - she was going to let him stay. Hood’s balls what a stupid idea.

“You must think me royally stupid,” she added.

The man smiled, a slow smile, his eyelids dropping slightly, and Alistair suddenly understood the phrase ‘bedroom eyes’ that he’d seen in a serial once, “I think you are royally tough to kill. And utterly gorgeous.”

Another laugh. Were he a more introspective person, Alistair would wonder if his vehement opposition to the assassin was that he could be lying to get close enough to kill them or that he could be, well, close enough. But surely, _surely_ she wouldn’t really.

She sighed, dropped her arms, “Very well.”

He couldn’t hold it in, “_What?!_ You’re bringing the assassin? Really? How can you think that’s a good idea?”

She turned her gaze on him, calm and determined, “Alistair. We are recruiting help against Loghain and an Eleint. Can we afford to say no to someone offering to serve?”

He bristled, “I know, it’s just...right. I get it. But I think the sign that we are well and truly desperate is officially knocking on the door.”

“It’s been knocking since Korcari. Let’s answer it,” she muttered, then looked down, offering her hand to Zevran, “Right. Let’s go.”

The assassin’s lips trailed over Elissa’s knuckles before he gripped hard enough for her to haul him to his feet. Alistair glared at the gesture, but Elissa seemed to barely register it.

“Fabulous. We’ve only lost an hour of daylight in the dark of the woods,” Morrigan drawled, once they started walking again, and for the first time ever, Alistair agreed with her sentiment.


	16. Travelling by Warren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and crew venture into a warren to travel to Haven, where they make some interesting discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Data migrations are no joke. This last one took me three weeks, and there are still things to do?? Ugh. No time for anything until NOW.

Things were tense in the camp for the first time since they had started travelling together, at least this flavor of it, covered in a thin layer of chilly distance among the members of their group. The party was divided on their opinion of how Elissa had handled the situation with Zevran. Or more accurately, none of them, save perhaps Leliana and Shale, believed it a good idea. Most of the others believed it was ill advised and said as much.

Alistair clearly had the biggest issue with it, making for his tent almost immediately upon putting up camp after the ambush - unusual for a man who would normally take watch and share stories with Elissa of their fallen comrades, none of whom she’d known, in an attempt to keep their memory alive. She relied on the steel in her spine to keep her from demonstrating to anyone how much that particular demonstration of disapproval hurt.

Still it must have been obvious, since Wynne approached in the late hours and reminded Elissa that it was for the best, “A woman in your position cannot afford to love-”

“Who said anything about love?” she scoffed, but Wynne just arched an eyebrow at her.

“Care for someone, then. There may come a time that you must put the world’s need ahead of your wants, and what would you do? If you had to sacrifice the person you love most for them? Or if you had to sacrifice yourself?”

Elissa took deep breaths, not wishing to further alienate any of their party with vicious words. She had already given up so much for the world. Her parents’ lives bought her escape from the castle, and she gave up her title to join the Order of the Grey. She had put off and put off going to find Fergus, so that when she finally did, it was too late - battle was starting. She still didn’t know if he had made it out alive.

And she had proven herself capable of making the hard decisions. Did she wish to travel with a man who had set up an ambush to kill her? Not so much. Would she do it, if it meant extra hands against the oncoming Blight? Clearly.

Instead she just waved vaguely, “Wynne, of course I understand that. It won’t be a problem.”

Feeling over tired from the short exchange, she considered going straight to bed, but there was much yet to do. Instead she sought out Leliana; she appreciated the woman’s pragmatic approach to their situation, and she needed to ensure that they were ready for tomorrow.

None of the party had exhibited signs of plague, but they had also borrowed a map from Redcliffe Castle and learned that Haven was tucked away in the mountains, probably a week’s hike to get there, and time was a resource they could simply not afford to waste. Elissa had heard of travel by warrens, had herself visited one now, but they could not wait around to theorize and argue if it would, in fact, be faster. 

She found Leliana and Morrigan in the midst of a stare-down at the edge of the camp, a scenario that was already commonplace. Leliana was a sweet woman with most of them, speaking in admittedly cryptic stories to tell her history, loathe to discuss her magic, though quick to use it. Morrigan was never precisely warm, and thus the women seemed to clash, though Elissa recognized that it was surface deep only. They partnered more often than not, joining their magics remarkably well, something that Elissa thought impossible if the two truly disliked one another.

The sight had her lips tugging into a slight smile - some things, at least, would stay the same no matter what, “Ladies. I take your pointed looks to mean that we have options?”

“We do not have options, Shield Anvil,” Morrigan began, just as Leliana said, “Yes. There are gates we could use.”

And so began the shouting match. In truth, Elissa was tempted to watch it escalate. Perhaps it was just her mood, or it was the comfort of the normalcy of the situation, even, but she needed answers, not entertainment, “One at a time, please. Leliana - you believe there are options. I’ll hear them first. Then Morrigan can explain why there are not, in fact, options.”

Morrigan scowled, and Leliana just nodded, “Of course. As you can tell, this forest is old. There is much power here, and finding a gate would be easy. I can take us through any number of warrens - think of the woods as the menu of options, you see? There are trees and Earth. There are many creatures here, living their lives, not to mention the flora itself, so there is life and therefore death. There are shadows.”

Elissa waited, but Leliana seemed happy with her response as-is, “Leliana, you are saying you wish to use one of the Tel warrens? Or…?”

Leliana and Morrigan exchanged a glance, the latter’s face clearly communicating an air of justification.

“We could use a Tel warren, more specifically Tennes-”

Elissa held up her hand before Morrigan could interrupt. the hedge mage's mouth open already to argue.

“Or Meanas. Or even Hood.”

None of those sounded ideal to Elissa. Meanas, perhaps, but she had always been taught that one could not travel through Meanas. Hood's realm cut a bit too close to home; she had no desire to journey through the warren of death. And Tennes was likely to burn them all to a crisp before they could realistically make it anywhere.

“Noted. Morrigan - counter point, please.”

Morrigan plucked at one of her feather pauldrons, “Shield Anvil, the issue is plain. None of those warrens, not a one, is safe or easy to traverse. More importantly, to keep all of us on track through, say, ‘Meanas’,” she hooked her fingers around her head when she said the word, her tone sarcastic - something Elissa would have to ask about later - before continuing, “and you would really have us travel through shadow? You yourself know how fickle it is.”

“You’ve said nothing against Hood’s realm.”

Morrigan shrugged, “I believe it could be the safest.”

“Could be? You made it sound as though there were only one option, an obvious one, and yet you claim some level of skepticism about the choice you are proposing?”

Morrigan frowned at her words, then shrugged, “We could continue on foot.”

Elissa shook her head, “We haven’t the time. Eamon is barely holding on, and I do not trust that the Chained One will continue to allow him to be used as a bargaining chip. We don't know how long it will take to get to Haven, as until days ago, none of us knew it existed. Furthermore, we are moving toward the source of plague; what happens should we run into people carrying it? There are too many variables. I don't like it, but if Hood's warren is the only one...”

“There is the Abyss,” Morrigan remarked, ignoring Leliana’s warning look, “it has no guardian, so we would be less likely to rouse anything.”

“I’m not fond of that name; you’ll need a compelling argument.”

“I cannot lead us through-” Leliana protested.

“But I can,” Morrigan assured them, “It is…absence, Shield Anvil. If Chaos is everything all at once, the Abyss is its antithesis. It was used before us, and it will be used again. I assure you it is a viable option.”

“Have you travelled within it before?”

Morrigan nodded but offered nothing further.

Elissa pinched the bridge of her nose, considering. She didn’t relish the thought of this anyway, but as Wynne had kindly pointed out only minutes prior, she was responsible for making the hard decisions now, “Fener preserve me. Let’s make use of this Abyss. Morrigan - I am holding you responsible for our party. Should this end disastrously, you will need to get everyone out.”

Morrigan nodded solemnly. 

“Prepare and let us know when you are ready. I’d like to be on our way before first light.”

***

Zevran was beginning to seriously doubt his plan would work. It was clear to him that Elissa, and everyone who followed her, was in fact insane. The Crows, it was true, would make use of warrens from time-to-time. Not Zevran himself of course, but others - an assassin, after all, was just someone who was paid for killing, and that could be accomplished with blade, arrow, bolt, hands, or, yes, magic.

But this was something else entirely.

The travel was slow to his perception, slower than he preferred at least, but it had to be. Morrigan, up at the front of what had become an almost single-file line, was creating a path, as they went, moving on a floor covered with detritus - if such a word could be used to describe crumbled buildings and twisted chunks of metal that had no discernible original shape. There were entire houses, leaning to one side and empty. But there were smaller items, too - weapons, clothes, armor, baubles of all kinds. He was sorely tempted to take something - anything - but something even greater stayed his hand. As crowded as this place felt, it was somehow empty.

And he dared not look up. He had already made that mistake - feeling dizzy, as he gazed at a dark sky, unending, stars whirling overhead at speeds he could not imagine, streaking across the dark backdrop of nothing, some of them looming larger for a moment, then popping back out of existence, and through it all the crimson light of the vast sun under which they travelled.

He did not much care for this place, after all, and he wondered at a group who had believed the logical conclusion to their planning was to enter this strange place. He wondered at their audacity, their bravery, their good sense. What hope did he have against these people so willing to tread here?

The rest of Elissa’s party were admittedly more on guard, but they did not seem quite so unnerved as he himself felt. He wondered if this was normal for them? Did they often find themselves in strange worlds, such as this?

He thought to ask, but the others did not put such trust in him as Elissa had. He almost felt guilty, but imagining in vivid detail what the Crows would do to him, should they learn that he failed, was enough to steel his resolve. The Crows did not fail; it was bad for business. And it was, after all, just business. Still he thought it a shame that such a wondrous creature should be removed from the world.

Time had no meaning here, he knew, but it felt that an eternity was passing them by. Perhaps they would emerge, and this Blight would be over - whatever it was. He had not cared to learn much beyond the minimum needed to fulfill the contract, a fact he now lamented. Perhaps he would have been better prepared for what was happening or would have known better than to go in for the long game on the contract.

His reverie was broken by Elissa’s barked order to stop. He was startled so suddenly that he nearly ran into Sten’s back. 

“Apologies, my large friend,” he offered with a smile, “Do you happen to know the cause for our pause in progress?”

The spear-wielding near giant turned and shook his head. A man of few words, sure enough, and even fewer for the assassin. Undeterred, he made his way to the front of the line to better investigate what was happening. He feigned curiosity, when in fact he wished to avoid any delays to their leaving this awful place.

Elissa, Alistair, and Leliana were all gathered around something on the ground, murmuring among themselves. With a confident stride, he approached, “What have we found in this strange land?”

Alistair looked up and barely contained the suspicious glare that came immediately to his face. Leliana ignored him, kneeling down next to whatever it was that they were studying so closely. Elissa, without turning, announced, “We’ve long wondered about the origin of the Darkspawn in our own realm. This looks like one of their weapons.”

Well that was even less appealing, he had to admit, than simply wandering through this endless, cluttered waste. Indeed he was beginning to think he would not see the end of this contract after all.

***

Leliana had only barely registered the presence of the assassin. It was imperative that they determine if this weapon was left recently or not, but the very nature of the Abyss made it Hood-damned impossible. Nothing in this blasted warren held heat, so if it had been held recently, there would no tell-tale, lingering air of its owner. 

The one thing that the ruins and rubble had in common was that they came from dead, forgotten places built by dead, forgotten people. 

But the Darkspawn were not forgotten, were they?

There was a mystery to solve, and she could not leave this place until it was. A weapon left little behind in the way of story, did almost nothing to help one understand what a culture was like beyond how vicious their treatment of enemies on the battlefield. This was clearly of the same basic design as a Darkspawn blade, but it didn’t have the rough hew features that she usually associated with them. Similar but different and full of questions.

The blade itself was tucked in a hollowed-out tree trunk, or what she assumed was once a tree, almost hidden by dirt. It was blind chance that the flicker of light reflecting off the metal caught her eye. She had stopped to inspect and finding no discernible traps decided to investigate further. She reached in, ignored the hissed warning from Alistair, and began to dig out the rotting leaves, soil, and insects. Clumps of mud and muck dropped gracelessly from her hands, as she dug. The tree was truly hollow, and she got nearly four inches into the mire before finding anything more.

Gingerly, with a care she had not shown a moment ago, she pulled a string of beads from the mud. Ceremonial, most likely, and colorful once, now faded from an undetermined time sitting in the rotted innards of the tree. More digging rewarded her with a goblet and a thin clay tablet with markings carved delicately into its surface. The carvings should have been worn down, impossible to read whether understandable or not, but it looked fresh as the day it had been carved. She brought the tablet to her nose, sniffed, touched it to the tip of her tongue.

“That’s disgusting,” Alistair muttered behind her, followed by a grunt and muttered apology, all of which she ignored anyway.

There was magic at work on the tablet, of course. Old. Morrigan might be better suited for determining its true source, but it tasted like salt water and ocean breeze, the sharp tang of the air before a storm. Beru? But no, older, she reminded herself.

A seafaring people then?

She picked up the dagger again and studied it, “Sten!”

The Edur man appeared at her side shortly after, saying nothing. She held out the dagger to him, “What use would you say this blade has?”

He frowned, took it in his hand - it was comically small - and seemed to weigh it. He balanced it, tested its movement in the air, ran the pad of his thumb over its serrated blade edge, “Could be any number of things.”

Less than helpful. “What about fishing?”

He turned the blade in his hand again, “Big for most fish, but I suppose if there were something large enough, yes.”

“Leliana,” Elissa called for her attention, “What is it? What are you thinking?”

For a moment she stared down at the clay tablet again, “I’d like to read this, but I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to translate it. It tastes like the ocean, like the salt that lingers on your skin when you’ve stood in the spray.”

“But it was in a tree stump,” Alistair reminded her.

“We know nothing of the Darkspawn, Alistair. Isn’t it possible that they had once been seafaring? Perhaps they became stuck somewhere?”

The young man shrugged, but he offered no other explanation.

“We have long believed they originated from Omtose Phellack. A Blight often follows the unveiling of the warren."

Leliana waved off the implication, "Jaghut tyrants could simply be making use of them."

There was a beat of silence, presumably while Elissa considered this, but they could not stand here forever, "Is there anything else you think we can glean from here?”

Leliana shook her head, “Not from here, no. But I’d like to take this tablet with us.”

“That seems ill advised,” Sten mentioned, looking around at the mountains of forgotten memories, pieces of civilizations left to die.

“They are welcome to come and retrieve it,” Leliana shrugged, tucking the tablet away in her pack. The necklace, goblet, and blade she returned to the tree trunk. There was a groan of disappointment behind her, Zevran, no doubt interested in the potential value of such rare items.

“Well this was fascinating,” Morrigan’s lilting voice came from before them, “But might I recommend we continue on our way? We’ve much to accomplish in a short time; the whole point of making use of this warren was for us to get to Haven that much more quickly.”

Elissa straightened and nodded, “Morrigan is right. We can study that tablet when we return to solid ground. Well, er, you know what I mean.”

The party continued forward again, conversation among them continuing first at a soft volume until ultimately dwindling to silence again. Despite the clutter, the emptiness kept them all quieter than normal. The stillness did not invite interruption.

Something about that tickled Leliana’s thoughts, and she put it away for contemplation later, alongside the tablet and its strange markings.

Their journey lasted only a bit longer after finding the strange little altar, though what exactly that meant was difficult to ascertain. It may have been minutes. It may have been hours. They approached towering statues, crumbling until their shapes were almost impossible to discern - Leliana thought that perhaps they looked like hounds, once a polished, high-gloss white and now dulled from age and the harsh red light above them. She noticed Rood staring at them, growling once, low, and trotting closer to Elissa at the sight.

She would have to return here on her own - so many curiosities, so much old knowledge. She understood Morrigan’s predilection for the warren. The hedge mage had mentioned she had travelled this way previously - had she found gems of knowledge like this, as well? What had she learned, wandering through this cluttered record of the past?

After the statues, Morrigan stopped them, asking for a moment to concentrate. She made quick work of it, all things considered, a glittering tear ripping through the air in front of her, her brow furrowed. Leliana ushered the others before her, should she need to aid in keeping the gate open. 

Shale was first through, followed by Wynne. Alistair and Sten book ended Zevran’s exit, Rood, Elissa, and finally Leliana and Morrigan stepped into the tear.

They arrived on a calm mountain pass, the sun beginning the set. Plenty of time to make camp, then. The gate rippled close behind them, and Leliana felt bereft, just for a moment. She had never felt such kinship with a warren before, despite her familiarity with multiple.

“Now you understand,” Morrigan muttered, as they followed Sten through the brush to a suitable spot for a fire and to pitch their tents.

Indeed I do, she thought, tracing the carvings on the tablet. She didn’t remember taking it out of her pack, but here it was in her hands, and she stared at it for a long time, even as darkness settled.


	17. Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa once again speaks with an Ascendant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it was a weekend. I am grateful to have distractions.

The town of Haven was less than a day’s hike from where they had camped the night prior, heralded by a humble wooden arch. There were no signs for the village, at least that they had seen, but there seemed to be little else in the area anyway, much less anything requiring differentiation between it and the small town that they approached.

There was a single guard at the gate, and Alistair could feel his glare from a hundred paces. He wasn’t exactly standing tall, though, and the closer they got, the clearer the signs became. They had suspected, of course, but their worst fears were being confirmed - the illness that now plagued Eamon had originated here. To the right-hand side, in what had once been a crop field, pits had been dug, now filled with burned remains of plague victims.

Doors were barred shut right on the main strip leading into town, large X’s painted or carved into the doors to indicate that the houses were unclean. 

No one was outside, save this one guard, who between wet coughs and dry heaves, shouted to the best of his ability that they should turn back, his voice hoarse and broken.

“Come no closer, stranger. Poleil has descended into our midst, and our temple is full to bursting with those seeking her pity. It is unsafe.”

For the first time, Alistair felt that coming here was a mistake. He wanted to save Arl Eamon, but this was not something they could fight. Plague only laughed in the face of a sword, spat on a shield. 

Elissa stopped a respectable distance from the guard, “We understand the dangers. We have come on behalf of Arl Eamon, who has himself fallen ill to this malady.”

The guard shook his head, “I know of no Arl Eamon, but I am telling you, it is unsafe here.”

Elissa paused, glanced back at her crew, then turned and walked back toward them, “Leliana? What do you think? Morrigan?”

The two women shared a frowning look, but it was Leliana who spoke, “Indeed Poleil is here. This illness could only be the product of the goddess herself.”

“Do we know the source?”

Morrigan shook her head, “It is prevalent. If Poleil had a warren through which we could travel, it would feel much like this.”

Alistair shuddered at the thought, “What are we supposed to do then?”

Elissa rubbed at her eyes for a moment, and Alistair almost regretted his words. He had little to offer here, but he wanted desperately to provide options instead of driving home just how out of their depth they were. But the Shield Anvil, Elissa, always bolstered his faith in her. Even as the weight of greater odds settled on her shoulders, she nodded, 

“Very well. We need to shift focus. Wynne?”

The older woman approached, breaking away from the conversation she had been having with that Hood-forsaken assassin, “Yes?”

“It is clear enough that Poleil is here. What about healing energies? Is there anything?”

Wynne paused, closed her eyes for a moment. 

Alistair had seen battle mages at work, even in the short time he had been with the Order. They all approached magic in different ways, described it in different ways. A popular description was the idea of a warren’s flavor; once he had heard about their colors. Some mages used something like a focus, maybe a specific item, like the talisman Worm had used - a horn on a thong that he wore around his neck, despite the horn being too large for it to sit normally against his chest. He had seen Leliana use things like acorns and rocks to her advantage; he wondered if these things had been granted power somehow, but he never thought to ask.

Wynne simply closed her eyes and stood stock still. She could just as well be an incredibly lifelike statue for the movement she made - not even her eyes moved behind the lids. Were she not standing, he would be very truly worried about her.

After what seemed far too long a time, she opened her eyes, “There is a temple here, to Soleil.”

“Shedenul?” Leliana clarified, and Wynne nodded.

Elissa frowned, “You said that High Denul could not be used to cure the plague.”

“A mage cannot cure the work of a god, Shield Anvil. But a god can,” Wynne explained.

Elissa looked over her shoulder, studied the town, “Alright. Do we need to get to the temple? The only god I’ve encountered is a boar, and I was covered in blood within its own warren. The conversation was limited, and I’d like to not repeat the particular circumstances.”

Alistair choked on his laughter, not expecting the dry humor. He had been travelling with her for weeks, almost months now, and her wonderful, deadpan delivery still surprised and delighted him most of the time. The others seemed to ease as well.

“We may not need to get to the temple,” Leliana offered, “but we will need to speak with the goddess directly. We may be able to strike a deal.”

“To what end?” Morrigan asked, bored and looking rather skeptical.

“If Soleil sees what her sister has gotten up to, if we can convince her to intercede on our behalf, then perhaps that will be sufficient to clear away this virulence.”

Elissa considered this quietly for a moment before nodding, “It can’t hurt, right?”

“Dealing with a goddess? Even with rather benevolent ones, I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” Wynne warned.

“If you have another option, I will listen to it. In the meantime, Leliana, let me know what you need from me, and we’ll get started.”

Zevran approached at this time, “Am I to understand we are not walking into the plague-ridden hell hole beyond? Or are we defying even biology and taking our chances?”

Alistair had to admit, begrudging though it may be, that the assassin had a point. 

***

“We will need to, as Zevran so well described it, defy biology and take our chances going into the town,” Leliana reported to them an hour or so later. 

The response she received was about what she expected - a groan from Zevran, an arched eyebrow from Elissa, and a defeated sigh from Alistair. The fact was, there was little else she could offer. She and Morrigan had both done what they could from here, but the miasma of chaos and Poleil’s influence made even touching warrens almost painful. The one bright spot, dim but clear, was high on the hill, beyond the small residential area that they were currently bordering.

“Alright,” Elissa offered slowly, “well - there is no one about on the main thoroughfare here."

Morrigan waved toward the top of the mountain, “We believe that Soleil’s temple is above the main village.”

Wynne added her part, “After we realized, some pieces fell into place. There is an old tale in the temple, one I had always cast off as wishful thinking. The story is that before   
Soleil ascended, she was a devout priestess of Gedderone, along with her sister, Poleil. Soleil was the beloved of the goddess, and Poleil was jealous - Soleil ascended when Poleil cast her sister from the tower of their temple.”

“No doubt Gedderone rewarded Soleil, then, and punished Poleil,” Elissa surmised.

Leliana nodded, “We believe that the story may have some merit. Perhaps growing in grandeur over time, but every tale has a grain of truth to it, after all.”

“We still a need a way to get through the village without contracting the ire of the rejected sister.”

Morrigan picked up the explanation, “The temple is beyond the village, so there may be a way to skirt around it. But t’would be unwise for all of us to attempt this.”

Elissa nodded her agreement, scanning the faces of those assembled, “I’ll go ahead with a volunteer-”

“I’ll accompany you,” Alistair remarked immediately. 

The smile she granted her fellow warden was warm, “Thank you, Alistair. I’ll need one of my magic users, please, to help identify when we are close to the source of power.”

To the young man’s credit, he nodded and kept a stiff upper lip. Leliana raised her hand, “I will join you, Shield Anvil. Morrigan is less affected by the strangeness of the warrens and will be required should anything happen in our absence.”

Elissa studied the faces of their party, “We will be back as soon as we can. Do not take unnecessary risks. Wait here, out of sight of the guard - he has not been aggressive, but we cannot take for granted hospitality in a village in desperation. Leliana, we depart in ten.”

Thus dismissed, the group dispersed, though Elissa called Sten to her side for a brief, quiet conversation.

Eight minutes later, Leliana stood with Elissa and Alistair north of their camp, where the slope would take them above the ridge that overlooked the village and hopefully up through a somewhat open path to the remains of the tower. Rood sniffed ahead, but at Elissa’s command stayed closer to them.

The forest was quiet, and Leliana could sense the influence of Poleil over even the creatures of the woods. She did not wish to alarm anyone in their company, but it was likely that if they were to be infected, they already were. This had to work - they would have to make Soleil see their position and lend her aid. 

The climb to the ridge was steep, but not so steep that they could not hike up, slowly and carefully, but walking all the same. Once above the village, they saw with the clarity of distance the whole of the situation. The houses below were dark, bodies littering the small alleys between homes and the few shops. The ground was scorched near houses that may have been burned to stop the plague - it seemed likely that people were still within when the flames started.

The implications were grim.

Beyond the cursed village, though, the dark remains of a temple rose against the backdrop of the mountain. It looked as ancient as the story Wynne shared would indicate, though not in a state of disrepair that she would have expected. It was likely that the village had continued to care for it - perhaps what drew the unfortunate focus of the Queen of Disease. 

“Those poor people,” Alistair muttered, voicing what they were all thinking.

“We will stop this, Alistair,” Elissa reassured him, hand on his shoulder.

“The temple is ahead,” Leliana pointed out, “and I believe we will be able to skirt the edge of the village the entire way.”

“I haven’t seen any wildlife,” Alistair commented.

“I think it’s likely this plague does not care for the gates or walls of a village,” Elissa agreed.

Leliana felt a flash of shame - of course they all knew the danger was present even outside of the village. It was easy sometimes to forget that magic was not the only way to observe the world; she was so used to its amplifying abilities that she neglected other senses.

“We’d better not fail, then,” Alistair summarized.

“Indeed.”

***

Elissa had rarely visited temples, other than those housed directly on the castle grounds. The temple to Fener was less a true temple and more meditation space, and the small altar maintained by her mother was a formless thing befitting her obeisance to Meanas and its recent pantheon. The scale of this place was breathtaking, far beyond what she had imagined, stone spires reaching to the sky, ancient windows, their colored panes no less bright for the sunlight that shone upon them every day.

They ascended the stairs slowly, apparently all of them in awe of the scale of this place.

“Did Wynne say how old that tale was?” Alistair asked, his voice breathless, though from his amazement more than exertion, it seemed.

“Truly no one knows. Soleil and Poleil both are some of the oldest ascendants. Many believe them to have come soon after the fall of Mother Dark,” Leliana explained.

“And Gedderone?”

Leliana shrugged, “Older, I suppose. It’s possible that it was Soleil and Poleil here, as the story goes, and Gedderone was not the goddess who favored them but someone or something older. I cannot say except that I can indeed sense Denul energy here.”

It seemed peaceful enough, but a strange part of Elissa wanted to shrink away from the tower, remembering the last tower she had climbed, full of hope that backup would arrive, that the day would be saved. She flicked her gaze to Alistair, finding his presence to be a sort of balm. They had made it this far together; they would make it through this, too.

As if hearing her thoughts, the other warden turned and looked at her, head tilted in question. She only shook hers in response, unwilling to articulate the thought in the presence of Leliana. 

The heavy front doors were ajar, one swinging in just enough for a person to slip through. Elissa pointed to it, held a finger to her lips, and motioned to Rood to wait by the opening. The likelihood that they were about the be ambushed was slim to none, but she hadn’t survived all the way here by being reckless; she wasn’t about to start now.  
Arming herself with her dagger and her mabari on her heels, she felt for the shadows, wrapped them around herself, and slid through the opening. 

She found herself in a grand entry way, a wide hall leading to a circular chamber with doors surrounding it along the perimeter. In the center the stone slabs were worn away, but an image had once been clear in them. Somewhere above damage to the wall allowed the dim, grey light of dusk to filter through, illuminating the space enough to see the frail, small body of a young woman in a white shift, collapsed in the center of the chamber.

She dispersed the shadows and waved her companions forward, and Alistair pushed the door open just a bit wider, allowing Leliana through before following.

“Does she live?”

Elissa continued forward, Alistair remaining by the door to watch, until he was called to follow - always knowing what was expected and fulfilling his duty without her requesting it; she would have to find a way to explain her gratitude for such small things to him in the future. 

“I sense life yet in her,” Leliana offered.

Elissa approached quietly, but not so quiet as to startle the girl, if she were asleep. The girl did not stir. She pressed her fingers against the girl’s neck, feeling a thready pulse there, though she seemed unharmed. She was pale but not fevered, and there was no evidence of foul play that would have led to any real blood loos.

“Alive but unresponsive,” she confirmed.

“What is she doing here?” Alistair wondered aloud, staring at the otherwise empty room.

“An acolyte perhaps?” Leliana gestured to girl’s clothing, “It is possible that this is still a functioning temple.”

“Let’s get her some water, if we can,” Elissa said, standing again to look at the doors around them, “And then we need to find out how to speak to a god, or at the very least where we might find her.”

Leliana, who had approached to pour water slowly into the young woman’s mouth, stood suddenly and stepped away.

“Shield Anvil? I believe we have.”

***

Mortals little remembered the truth of things; Soleil understood this, but to hear the rumors, as these three came up the mountainside, that her sister had tossed her from the window for the favor of a goddess was laughable.

The truth was that Health was only so beloved because Disease existed, and so Soleil and Poleil could not exist without one another. 

They seemed to have no trouble understanding the concept with Oponn - the Lady’s pull and the Lord’s push used in everyday parlance to describe the duality of their nature. 

How was her counterpoint with Poleil more difficult to grasp?

But she would hear them nonetheless; she had but one acolyte, weak in the absence of food offerings from the village, and these three had taken pity upon her, when she had expected them to rape and rob. And so, with the gentility that was afforded one who had served her so faithfully, she spoke through the slight body.

“She calls you Shield Anvil, a title I have not heard in a long time. I wonder for what purpose Fener has sent you here.”

The woman who had been called Shield Anvil, who bore the hidden mark of the Boar of Summer but was wreathed in shadow, approached - one step, then two. She knelt briefly, “Fener opposes the Blight that approaches from the South.”

“I cannot fight the Blight,” she offered bluntly.

“I understand. However, as the Order was sent to fight the oncoming danger, we and the king of the land were betrayed. Fener grieves,” she spoke, quietly, her voice choking on this last bit.

“We are only two of us left in this land,” she continued, indicating the young man at the door, “and we cannot hope to defeat the Blight, cleanse the land, and do so without being slaughtered by the army of the usurper. I do not mean to imply that the machinations of mortals are your concern, but without your intervention, we will be denied an ally, and the Blight will overtake the land.”

The young woman, healing from the presence of the goddess within her, now stood, graceful and fluid, “I am not concerned with the Jaghut.”

“This is no Jaghut Tyrant. This is chaos. The warrens to the South are poisoned with it, and the Chained One has ascended to a House.”

Soleil was familiar with the Fallen One, with his pain. Even she was unable to fully heal the harm that was done to him, but she knew that he had been twisted to bestow his pain, his so-called gifts, to those who would be his thralls.

She considered this.

"How did this man, your would-be ally, become ill?”

“His wife sent knights to make an offering to a temple. They came here, and I cannot say what happened, but they brought back with them the blessings of Poleil and so the Arl is ill and may not even live, as we speak.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, "I see. And you believe they were sent to seek me out?”

Elissa frowned, “In truth, I do not know. It is possible the Arlessa lied to us, but that was irrelevant at the time. I need the Arl’s army, and if he is dead, I cannot get it.”

“You do not beg me to spare the town below?”

For the first time, the young man spoke, “It seemed very few people yet lived, but if the plague were to be eradicated, would they not be similarly healed?”

She had no reason not to, in truth.

“Your benevolence would be recognized, and I imagine temples would reap the benefits,” the mage that had offered her acolyte the water pointed out, as if knowing her mind.

“You aided my acolyte. That is sufficient. I will do this. I only request that you arrange for supplies to be delivered here on a regular interval,” she indicated the body that inhabited.

“Yes. We will see to it.”

It was nothing at all, truly. She waved her hand, dismissing her sister’s gift. If Poleil had made some deal with the knights, then she could take it up with them.

“Please leave, now.”

She carried her acolyte to the center of the room, lowered the floor where she could sleep, and returned to the light and warmth of her warren.

***

Alistair’s knees felt like water. They had been in the presence of a goddess - here, in this very world. Elissa had spoke to her; _he_ had spoken to her. And with a wave of her hand, she had supposedly cured all of those infected.

They had left immediately, as requested, and now were picking their way carefully down the mountainside. The two lightly armored women made it look easy, while his armor threatened to send him toppling at any moment, lost in thought as he was.

“I wonder,” Leliana spoke, breaking the silence that had followed them since the temple, “what happened. Isolde said that she sent knights here to gain favor at the temple - she did not say which temple, and she did not say why Haven.” 

“Come to think of it,” Elissa thought aloud, “she never said which god she sought blessings of. Alistair - is it possible she is lying to us?”

The thought left him chilled, even as they exerted themselves, “I cannot say anymore. She was never fond of me, but she always seemed to truly love Eamon.”

“Could she have been misled? She said she had prayed,” Leliana pressed.

“Someone had to plant the idea of Haven in her mind. I had never heard of it before. Wynne, too, said she had not heard the name Haven.”

He hated to say it, to even think it, but if Isolde and Connor both had appeared on cards of the Deck of Dragons, wasn’t it possible that they had already caught the eye of a god? It seemed reasonable enough to him, “Could the Crippled God have answered her prayers?”

Leliana nodded solemnly, “It seems likely.”

Elissa hissed, “How does he have such power?”

“He has lain dormant for so long, perhaps gathering his strength,” Leliana mused.

Elissa grunted in agreement and fell silent for a time. They were likely able to walk through the town, if Soleil had done as she said, but they seemed to have silently agreed to avoid it - there was enough horror to come and plenty behind them. The ground began to level out once more, and that was when Elissa approached him, squeezing his shoulder, “Alistair? Are you alright?”

He turned to look at her. She had been through as much as him, perhaps more, and she was standing tall and proud. He smiled, nodded, “I am. Even better now, knowing that we were able to help.”

Another squeeze, “It’s a good feeling. We’ll get back soon and see that he’s safe.”

Something in Alistair knew that he would be and knew that he would be instrumental in the weeks to come to ensure that they were victorious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poleil: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Poliel
> 
> Soleil: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Shedenul


	18. At Camp 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa has gained the support of the Arl of Redcliffe, or at least has finished the job of finding a cure. The party has a brief moment of respite in camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is hard during global crises. 
> 
> Anyhoo. A short interlude chapter here before we head the Brecilian forest!

Redcliffe had been trying, and Haven had not helped. Wynne could not remember the last time she was so exhausted, tired in her bones and ready to be done with this already. And yet they had so very far to go.

Despite the recent camp in Ostagar, it had been years since Wynne had slept on the actual ground, and so she lost some hours tossing and turning, barely getting the rest she so sorely needed. Thus she found herself standing in the darkness, staring out at the nothing beyond the light of their fire.

Morrigan camped away from the rest of them, she knew, but even from here she could not see where the hedge mage slept.

It was somehow comfortable, to feel so isolated, cocooned in darkness. If she could not see beyond the confines of their little camp, then perhaps nothing could look in. She knew that wasn’t the case, but in the moment, the very idea was a balm. So wrapped up in the idea was she that she almost missed the sounds coming from the other side of camp - voices, soft and pitched low to keep from waking anyone.

Wynne had her suspicions. It was truly none of her business, but she had few thrills in these twilight years, her own days of secret and quiet rendezvous quite over. She kept her steps light and meandering - no need to march directly to the source of the sound and give away her intentions, after all.

As she approached, she found herself disappointed. The voices were not those she expected.

“Wisdom is like breath. You need it, and no other can give you theirs,” Sten’s deep voice reached her through the shadows.

“And where do you search for it?” Elissa, softer and curious.

“In every moment of eternity there is a chance to find it. You have only to reach for it.”

A thoughtful hum followed this, “Your people are long lived, yes?”

Sten chuckled, a sound Wynne had never heard but recognized all the same, “As all Tiste are, we are immortal unless slain.”

“Well then perhaps you have the time to study each moment a bit more in-depth than we mere mortals.”

Wynne stepped back, only to bump into a broad chest behind her.

“Eavesdropping?” 

Alistair.

She sniffed, attempting to retain her dignity, “I couldn’t sleep. What are you doing?”

The warden blushed, scratched the back of his neck, “I was just...wandering.”

They both startled when the large form of Sten emerged from the darkness, “Neither as subtly as you seem to believe yourselves capable of.”

Elissa’s laughter followed, as she too came into the soft light of the fire, “It’s so strange. I feel exhausted, but I find I can’t sleep. It seems I’m not the only one, then. You would think, given my title and recent history, speaking to a god would be old news.”

“I think it’s good to keep things in perspective. You should be in awe of such powerful creatures, even if not in reverence,” Wynne offered. 

The Shield Anvil shrugged, “Whatever good it does. They will continue to maneuver us like pawns, and we’ll go on marching.”

Sten shook his head slightly, “I will be retiring now. I find that speaking to such impatient young women drains my energy more than I anticipated.”

Elissa responded with a hearty laugh, slapping the man on his bicep, “Goodnight, Sten.”

They watched the Tiste man melt into the shadows, presumably to return to his own tent. 

Wynne liked Sten, appreciated his perspective. She had known scant few who could truly claim to have any Tiste blood, much less true Tiste - Edur or otherwise. She had suspicions about what he was doing in Ferelden. She had suspicions, too, about how much Leliana or Morrigan had guessed themselves. But it was not her place to speculate or spread gossip, so she kept those thoughts to herself. She ignored the quiet voice that reminded her of her hypocrisy, that it was speculation that led her to this side of the camp in the first place. 

Silence sat among the three remaining for a few breaths before Alistair cleared his throat and leaned in to address Elissa, “I wanted to thank you. For Redcliffe. We…you went out of your way to save the Arl and his family, despite everything. Even if it would have been easier not to.”

He looked nervously at Wynne, shifted his weight, but continued anyway, “There’s been so much death and destruction. It’s..well, it makes me feel good that at least we are saving something, no matter how small. I owe the Arl that much.”

Elissa paused, perhaps waiting for more, but when it clear there was nothing else, she responded, “Oh. I…was that all?”

Alistair shrugged slightly, scratched the back of his neck, “I thought it needed to be said. What can I say? I’m a giver.”

Elissa smiled at that, a glint in her eye that Wynne recognized immediately. Apparently Alistair did, too, since his cheeks went red, and he cleared his throat once more, “Well, uh, now that the warm, fuzzy part of the day is over, we can get back to the ritual dismemberment. Er. Wait. It’s not Matrinalis just yet, is it?” 

The man spun on his heel then and marched to the edge of camp, waving behind him. Elissa turned to Wynne then, eyebrow arched, and a soft laugh escaping her, “I should probably try to get some sleep.”


	19. The Dalish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Arl of Redcliffe shares a tip on a way to recruit a company of Dalish, so Elissa and her crew travel back South to find them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Camp NaNo goal was to finish this story, and IT IS DONE. Except for the epilogue and maybe some little details here and there, but otherwise it's done, which means I can start posting as I edit instead of trying to juggle edits and writing both. YAY. There is so much of this stuff. How did this happen??

Soleil was as good as her word.

Even before they had arrived back in Redcliffe, news of the Arl’s sudden and miraculous recovery from his equally sudden and terrible illness reached them on the road. Alistair’s spirits soared with the news, which was good to see — a welcome change from the nervous, grim air that had surrounded him previous.

Wynne was disappointed to have missed the encounter with Soleil on some level; on another level, she was relieved to have kept herself out of the eyes of an ascendant. She had no desire to be under the scrutiny of a powerful being such as that, no matter how her human pride may wish for accolades from a goddess.

Given the clearing of the plague, the road was no longer so perilous, and they journeyed now under the sun and fresh air, a welcome reprieve from the oppressive air around Haven and the strange crimson darkness of the warren they had travelled through to arrive there. Their progress was slower on the return for the lack of that warren, but it felt easier, too.

Late into the fifth day they arrived outside the town gates, now open and welcoming, leading into a town still under repair but bolstered by its defeat of the Darkspawn that had plagued its people and the return of their benevolent leader.

They were marshalled to the castle, where a small company of guards now stood outside the double doors of the entrance. Wynne couldn’t help but wonder what may have happened to those that had not been so lucky in health. 

The Arl sat in the main hall, still vaguely ashen in face, but clearly swiftly regaining his strength. Isolde sat at his side, with Bann Teagan standing to the other side, but there was no sign of Connor.

“Lady Cousland,” Eamon began, standing slowly and waving off his wife, who tried to take his arm to steady him, “I understand that I have you to thank for defending this city, my people, and for saving my life.”

“Just Elissa, if you please,” the Shield Anvil nodded, “and I wish I could say that it was for the good of the people alone—”

“But there is a Blight, rising like the tide, and Denerim brands you a traitor,” the man nodded, his voice almost amused.

“Indeed. My position, as you can see, is strong,” Elissa added wryly, which pulled a hacking, painful laugh from the man before them. Teagan, too, briefly covered his face to stifle his amusement.

“You will have my army and support. And I will be calling a Landsmeet. I will not see that traitor on the throne,” he said, as he steadied himself, and Wynne noticed the man’s gaze turn momentarily to Alistair, who shrank away from it.

“But before that, I have two matters to discuss. First - the source of my illness. Did you find anything?”

Elissa looked to Leliana, who stepped up and bowed, her form precise and practiced, “The Arlessa spoke of sending knights to the village of Haven to make an offering to a temple, her hope to keep the Blight from leaving Redcliffe in ruin.”

Eamon regarded his wife with something that could be pride.

“Those were the only details available, other than that the knights returned with plague. With that information, we journeyed to Haven ourselves. Poleil had unveiled her warren there, and what we found was a village very nearly emptied and mostly burned.”

Alistair cleared his throat, “Sten and I found the knights’ corpses in the servants quarters. We believe the servants, too, were there.”

In that moment at least, Wynne believed that the Arl would be sick. He stumbled back, as if struck, hand supporting him on the throne. This time when he looked at his wife, there was no pride but horror, “Why…you have said nothing?”

Isolde frowned, “I did not wish to upset you, and I was so relieved that you returned to us!”

What color there had been drained from his face, “Are they still there?”

Teagan now spoke, “Brother, I saw to the removal when it was clear the danger had passed.”

The Arl’s mouth was a tight, straight line, but he nodded to Leliana to continue.

“The village houses a grand temple, in which we beseeched Soleil to undo the work of her sister. She agreed in exchange for regular supplies delivered to her acolyte in the temple.”

“It will be done,” Eamon confirmed before turning to Isolde, “Why Haven? Why did you send our knights there?”

Isolde seemed to shrink into her seat, “I prayed, husband.”

“Prayed to whom?”

The man was exceedingly patient, it seemed. Wynne saw with some amusement that Elissa’s fists were clenching and unclenching, as the woman on the dais tried to avoid the questions, just as she had when approached by their own company.

“I prayed, and I had a vision of a temple. I saw the signs, the mountain —”

“Isolde. People have suffered and died. I will have an answer. Now.”

She paled for an instant before, with a strange sort of snarl, ripping something from her bodice and tossing it at his feet, “There! That is who answered me!”

The thin wooden card slapped onto the floor with precision, landing exactly on its back, face side up, staring accusingly at them all. A tent, smoke leaking from its partially opened flap, was held with chains to the earth that seemed to seethe beneath it. 

Eamon backed away from it, “Isolde.”

“I did not know, Eamon! I only wished for you to stay here, to not go to war! Look at what happened at Ostagar,” and here she pointed accusingly at Alistair.

Fury replaced the earlier pride, replaced the recent concern, “You sent our knights to their doom, weakening our army to keep me from going to war? We will speak of this later. Leave now. I need to speak of these matters without you here.”

Isolde crumpled at his words but did not protest, standing and ducking out without further comment.

“You will need more than my army,” Eamon continued, as if the Cripple God’s card was not still staring at them, accusatory with its very presence, “given that many of my knights are gone. Before I fell ill, I received a letter requesting aid in finding and hunting down a D’ivers in the Brecilian forest.”

“A D’ivers? Are you sure?” Morrigan seemed suddenly focused on the conversation, where moments before she had worn a rather a bored expression.

The Arl nodded, “The letter came from a Dalish woman who was concerned for her clan. I was, of course, unable to answer. Perhaps if you are able to rid them of this danger, you will earn a payment in arms?”

Elissa took this in, nodded slowly, “Yes. It seems this is the best option we have at this time, and we cannot turn away help. Please share what you know, and we will depart tomorrow.”

“Of course. And tonight you will be welcome here for a meal and to sleep, if you can stomach staying in a home of death.”

“How is Connor?” Alistair blurted, unable to contain himself any further.

Eamon smiled warmly at the man, “Connor is doing well. I understand he was…of a different mind when you were here, but whatever work you did seems to have solved all manner of ills. You shall have to grant me some time, Alistair - share your valiant tales with an aging man.”

Alistair gave a bow, “It would be my honor.”

“Then at least stay for dinner. I have much to be thankful for on this day. Tomorrow you can return to your duties and seek out the Dalish.”

* * *

The Dalish were not a people known for their hospitality. They were not unkind, necessarily, but years of being met with distrust and sometimes outright revile had made them slow to trust outsiders. It was no surprise that a week later, when their journey into the Brecilian forest was halted, it was by one of the Dales dropping from a tree above them, bow drawn and arrow pointed in their direction - no doubt there were more that they could not see. Zevran admired their stealth.

“Stop right there, outsider. The Dalish have camped in this spot. I suggest you go elsewhere. And quickly,” the woman warned. Her tone was perhaps sharper than the arrow pointed at them.

Elissa, however, seemed unimpressed, “I had no idea the Dalish were here.”

The woman before her frowned, “I find that hard to believe. So what business do you have here, outsider?”

“I came here hunting a D’ivers,” Elissa explained, “and I had certainly hoped to find the Dalish, but this was largely a stab in the dark. I’m with the Order of the Grey, and I believe this creature has ties to the Blight.”

“A Warden? How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

The moment was tense, he was sure, but Zevran could not take his eyes from the rippling muscle in the Dalish woman’s arms, as she held the bow taught - no small feat, he knew.

Elissa shrugged, “You’ll have to take my word for it, or kill me and my party right here.”

Zevran wondered if perhaps his dear Warden was actually looking for a swift death, as often as she invited it. The others referred to her as Shield Anvil, and for all intents and purposes, it seemed that she was in the service of Fener, but perhaps they were all of them deceived, and it was in fact Hood that she served. Stranger things had been proven true before.

But the Dalish woman relented, finally dropping her aim, “I suppose a lie wouldn’t gain you much benefit here. Follow me to our keeper.”

As if on cue, a handful of other Dalish warriors seemed to bleed into their vision, and Elissa, seemingly unperturbed, or more likely also expecting them, nodded for the crew to follow.

Zevran was admittedly curious - these were his people, though he knew little of their heritage. He had been born far from where most of the tribes lived, and he had been sold to the Crows early enough that he learned nothing from the whores where he had first lived. These were his first glimpses of the people that he came from, and he supposed they impressed so far.

He followed along, falling in line with Wynne, his normal spot - he liked the older mage, found her soothing and pleasant enough to talk to. It gave him a good spot to keep his sights on Elissa, should an opportunity present itself - or so he told himself. In truth, with each passing day, it became less likely that he would actually succeed in his mission, and too it became less bothersome to him. Their leader was a fascinating and enigmatic woman, and he was learning that she instilled deep loyalty almost without trying.

They followed the Dalish woman, who spoke loud enough for them all to hear, “In the camp, I suggest you keep your hands to yourself and remember that our arrows are still trained on you.”

The path they took through the woods was clear enough to start, with space for them to walk two-by-two for a time. As their travels continued, the space narrowed, until they were single-file and still pressed in, the ground beneath them worn but no more obvious to him than a natural dip in the land. He hoped that someone in their party was skilled in navigating such wilderness because, while he could kill a man - or woman - in dozens of ways, he had lived his life in a city. This was foreign to him, as foreign as his own people.

Seemingly all at once they were in a clearing, littered with majestic, winged carts - aravels, he remembered them being called. Their red sails rose up to the trees, less flexible than a true wind sail, but vibrant and just as large.

The guard retinue that had accompanied them broke off when they entered, but Zevran trusted the warning that they were still under watch.

An older Dalish man, dressed in robes and carrying a silver staff, ducked through the fabric door of one of these structures and approached, shading his eyes from the light of the sun. The woman who had accompanied them knelt, just as the man noted, “I see we have guests. Who are these strangers, Mithra? I have precious little patience and less time to spend on outsiders today.”

For just a moment, the barest hint of a second, Zevran thought he smelled spice - something exotic, perhaps - on the wind, but it was gone in a moment.

Mithra, the impressive archer, was nonplussed by his chiding tone, “This one claims to be a Grey Warden, here seeking a D’ivers. I thought you might like to speak with her, or at the very least, to leave the decision to you.”

Did Zevran imagine the flash in the man’s eyes? No. But he could not discern its purpose with so little information. It was gone in a moment.

“That was wise of you. Ma serannas, Mithra. You may return to your post.”

The man was bald, head shaved, from the looks of it, the blood-tattoos of his kind etched into his visage at the forehead and sweeping vines from his lips across his cheeks to his ears. He turned to Elissa, effectively dismissing the lovely woman who had threatened them, and studied their party before speaking again.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Zathrian, the keeper of this clan, its guide and preserver of our ancient lore. And you are?”

Keeper, Zevran thought - a fancy word for mage, though it seemed they did in fact have additional duties. He wondered if it would be possible for him to get any time with the man, perhaps understand more of his heritage. It was a foolish hope; he tried to ignore it, but the white hot flames of it licked him all the same.

Elissa bowed her head just slightly, “Elissa Cousland. A pleasure to meet you, and I thank you for allowing us into your clan’s camp.”

At that, Zathrian seemed genuinely surprised, “Manners? From a shemlen? Interesting. What might be your mission here? You say you are seeking a D’ivers? For what purpose? And you are a member of the Order? Are you here to spread news of the Blight?”

Elissa was unshaken by the pointed questions, but he continued anyway.

“I had already sensed the corruption spreading in the south. The existence of the Blights is not news to me. I would have taken the clan north by now, if we had the ability to move, but as you can see, we do not.”

Zevran looked around the camp at that. He saw nothing that would preclude them from the leaving, surely? But he had little knowledge of such things. Elissa, he noted, also was looking around, as was Leliana and Morrigan. 

Alistair, of all people, spoke up finally, voice dry, “Yes. What are the odds?”

Zathrian gave him a pointed look but continued, “I do not know how much you are aware of. This may require some…explanation. Please, follow me.”

He waved them forward, and Zevran caught the scent of spice again - he couldn’t pinpoint its exact nature, but it had that sort of bite to its scent that a strong spice would have. 

The group followed this keeper through the camp, the low, pained groans of a medical tent reaching them before the sight of injured, bloodied soldiers. Most of them looked rather worse for wear, their clothes tattered, their skin still caked in drying blood - some of them looked to have been there for some time, others perhaps only a day.

“The clan came to the Brecilian forest one month ago, as is our custom when we enter this part of Ferelden. We are always wary of the dangers in the forest, but we did not expect the D’ivers would be lying in wait for us.”

“So you’ve encountered it?”

The man frowned, looked down at his feet, “They…ambushed us. And though we drove the beasts back, much damage was done. Many of our warriors lie dying, as we speak. The Blight’s corruption must be stopped, but we are in no position to lend aid.”

Elissa’s smile was wide, “Well then it’s good we’ve come to hunt, no?”

Zathrian smiled back, perhaps uneasy, “I…suppose so. But the D’ivers spread out and escaped deep into the forest. It would be no trivial task to pursue. This task has become too dangerous for us. I sent some hunters into the forest a week ago,” he began, waving once more for them to follow him back to what Zevran assumed was his personal abode, “but they have not returned. I cannot risk any more of my clan.”

“I understand. We are not of your clan,” Elissa reminded him.

“That is true.” Zathrian was not turned toward them when he said it, but the tone sent shivers down Zevran’s spine - he did not like this man. He reminded him too much a stalking cat.

He turned once more to their party, however, face solemn, “I must warn you that more than this creature lurks in the Brecilian Forest. It has a history full of carnage and murder, you see. Where there is so much death, the warrens are strong and the veil thin. But if you can indeed help, then I wish you luck.”

Elissa nodded, “We will head out tomorrow then.”

“My apprentice, Lanaya, will see to it that you are granted space to camp. Come see me when you have completed your task.”

With that, Zathrian turned and ducked back into his aravel. Elissa turned finally to the team and mouthed ‘clearly a trap.’

Zevran’s resolve in his mission weakened even further, as her esteem in his eyes grew.

* * *

The Dalish had granted Elissa’s small retinue a portion of the clearing close to the forest edge that surrounded them. It wasn’t an unpleasant location, necessarily, but it was far enough from the main camp to, at the very least, make them feel unwelcome, and at worst, make them an easy target should the clearing come under attack at some point. Fair enough, she thought.

What worried her far more was how Rood had been acting since their arrival, hackles raised, pressing against her leg in a clearly defensive, protective nature. Thick ropes of drool hung from his maw, as if he was tasting something in the air. 

The smell of spice didn’t escape her, either, and though subtle, if it was strong enough for her human nose, it had to be prevalent for him.

In truth, she felt on edge herself. With everything that had happened over the past month or so, she had every right to be. They had come here on a third party tip from a woman who they now could not find any record of. It was possible that this woman had already been killed by the D’ivers, but they were not permitted a list of those who had already been slain - “a matter of keeping our numbers a secret,” Zathrian had claimed.

Just once she would like a straightforward mission - go here, complete this task, and it is done. Instead everything she touched crumbled in her hands, so now she stared at dust.

Her mood was sour when she heard the footstep behind her. Either purposeful, to alert her of the person’s presence, or completely incapable of stealth. If the latter, she could already guess who was approaching her in the grey of dusk.

As if in answer, Alistair appeared in her periphery, silent but present. She allowed the silence to linger for a moment, sinking into her foul mood and dark thoughts for a moment more. She didn’t want to wear a mask around him, but she didn’t think he needed to know just how very tired she was.

“Elissa,” he began, his tone soft and…perhaps nervous? All the more reason to put on a brave face, then. “I’m worried about you. Have you…slept alright?”

She nodded, gave a soft hum.

“When I first went through the Joining, I didn’t. I would dream of battle every night. And some of the older members of the Order, they said that during a Blight, it would be worse. Fener preparing us, they said. And…well, I assume it’s doubly so for you.”

It was. But it was not battle lust that filled her dreams; it was grief. Every night she saw the mourning of a people at war, accepted those that fell in battle. The Darkspawn had been held back briefly by the wonderful work of Leliana and Morrigan, but they had spread out to either side of the vast canyon, and battles raged. People were dying, and Elissa felt them all. She was somehow tuned into those that fell to the Blight specifically, and she knew it would only get worse.

They stood in companionable silence for a while, Alistair shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking at her in fits and starts. Something told her to wait him out, let him build up to whatever it was he wanted to say. Though he wasn’t directly in her line of sight, she thought she could see the moment he was ready, his shoulders squaring, and his head coming up.

“I just wanted to say,” he sighed, brought his hands together in front of him, “given the circumstances, things could have been so much worse.”

She turned slightly to look at him, was certain that despite her efforts, she looked incredulous.

“I’m just so grateful that you’re…you. And not some other Grey Warden.”

She arched an eyebrow, fighting a smile.

“That sounded much better in my head,” he muttered, digging a tow into the dirt.

Now she did smile, and it felt alien to her, after the last few days. For just a moment, a brief space of time between sands in the hourglass, they were just two people. She was a woman, and he was a man, and she could take this time to enjoy his awkward, fumbling show of appreciation.

“I just mean to say,” he finally continued, staring up at the stars, “that I can’t imagine having done this without you.”

For the speed the words left his mouth, she wondered at how long they had waited on his tongue.

It was her turn to stare at the stars, as she felt tears prick her eyes. She thought of her family, her friends, all dead and rotting in Highever. She thought of the terrible battle at Ostagar. She thought of the people in Lothering, the ones who had died before they arrived in Redcliffe, the plague victims in Haven. 

She thought about waking in Flemeth’s cabin and emerging of find him there, relieved. She thought about the nights in camp, hearing stories about the Order. She thought about the battles they had fought, the frequent appearance of a shield to her left or right. She thought about the dried rose pressed between two pages of a book in her bag. She thought about stupid jokes and insightful commentary on strategy.

“Oh,” was all that came out at first, the silence stretching for a while before she could muster, “I…thank you. I…I feel the same way. About you.”

What in Hood’s bloody name was wrong with her? 

“Right,” he nodded, staring out at the middle distance for a beat before grinning, “now if we could move on past the awkward…embarrassing phase, and get right the steamy bits, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sounds good,” she turned slightly, slapped his shoulder, “off with the armor, then.”

She knew he was joking. She was, too. Mostly. It wasn’t the time. And she had the sense that he was less apt to jump right into bed with someone than she might be. He had that seriousness about him, at least when he was being real. Sure, he joked a lot, but in the quiet moments, she had come to see that he was in fact a rather thoughtful and careful person.

He laughed again, “Bluff called! Damn! She saw right through me.”

“You’re so cute when you’re bashful,” she teased, happy to be falling into banter.

“Cute?” he whined, “Very well. I’ll just…be…” and he started to back away, nodding toward his tent, “I’ll just be over there. Until the, er, blushing stops. Just to be safe. You know.”

She watched him back away. When enough distance was between them to be, as he put it, safe, he stopped, offered her a true, damn-near heart melting smile, and turned to walk back. She didn’t imagine the light bounce in his step.

* * *

The morning was grey and glistening, dew on the grass and trees lending an ethereal sparkle to the camp. The Dalish had already been up and moving for some time, but in truth, so had Morrigan.

D’ivers. It was an ancient magic; she knew because she had undergone the ritual to become Soletaken herself, the ritual that, when done improperly, would split a soul, splinter it into so many pieces that it became mad. 

It required powerful magic to perform the ritual, and the Dalish certainly had that power. More Dalish tended to have some form of magic than other races, most likely due to their Tiste heritage. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that, if a D’ivers were in these woods, the chances were more likely that someone within the camp was the actual culprit.

But she couldn’t come out and accuse a tribe of people of harboring an abomination. The chances were great that a Dalish clan member was the attacker, but it did not mean that there was no other possible explanation. D’ivers could live for a very long time. Something could have come here long ago and was disturbed by the growing presence of Chaos.

Elissa’s mabari, slobbering creature that it was, sensed the same - the spice on the wind was clear enough indication that they were well within the range of the creature. 

She worried that the others did not truly grasp the danger of facing such a being, and sleep had eluded her accordingly. In the darkest hour, she stole into the woods, gathered leaves, dirt, and water from the forest, and had bound them with red twine into the shape of a bear. She held the crude doll in her hand, as she stood outside Elissa’s tent, waiting, making no attempts to hide her presence - she did not wish to startle the woman.

The Shield Anvil emerged soon after the first rays of the sun had filtered over the horizon.

“Shield Anvil,” Morrigan started.

“Please, Morrigan. Elissa.”

Morrigan nodded, “Very well. Elissa. I’ve an item for you,” she said hastily, pushing the bear totem into her hands, “I do not know how much you know of D’ivers and Soletaken. If we are to make our way into the woods, I can assure you we will be facing a terrible fight. Should we become separated, set flame to this, and I will be able to find you.”

Elissa studied the item in her hands, looked up at Morrigan and, blessedly, asked nothing further. Morrigan respected the Shield Anvil, had come to truly appreciate her for her lack of prying. She seemed able to sense when further questioning would be uncomfortable and so avoided it.

“I…will do that. Thank you, Morrigan. Is anyone else awake?”

Morrigan shook her head, “I believe you are the first, but I suspect they will rouse soon, and we can be on our way. If this being is in the woods, we may have some travel ahead of us before we find it. And we do not want to find it at night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D'ivers: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/D'ivers
> 
> Soletaken: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Soletaken


	20. The Brecilian Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and crew head into the Brecilian forest to seek out the D'ivers. And things do not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this whole chapter in the game was pretty difficult to translate well. So I took the coward's way out, and it's shorter than some of the other ones. Except, I guess, the mage's circle. But I make up for it in Orzammar...so...many...chapters.

Rood understood more than the woods-witch believed he did.

When Elissa told him to scout ahead, to find the path that would be safest, he knew what her expectations were. Flat ground was easier for their two-legged walking. Smells of danger that her small nose could not pick out of the smells of the forest would be clear to him, and he could give her warning of predators lurking. Sweat of men, the sour kind, blood, the strange dark sickness that came with those grey creatures - all of these he could warn her of, and she would know what he had found.

This forest where she had taken them had his senses on high alert. The air was heavy with a scent he did not have a name for except DANGER. Too much of it and from all over. Sometimes he would think it was stronger, something he could follow to a source, but it would move, or it would have two different directions. It was frustrating, and so he whined at Elissa’s side when she gave the signal for him to scout ahead.

He did not wish to leave her side. But he wished her to be happy with his behavior. Having voiced his protest, he moved ahead. For a while the scent was gone, replaced with the fresh smell of moving water. It was a reprieve, but it also meant that something could be covering itself.

The road ahead was empty. Not even ground-level prey was present.

The forest was wrong.

They should not be here.

For the first time since Rood had been a pup, he went against Elissa’s order and returned to her side. He would not move until the source of the danger was clear, and then he would tear into it.

* * *

The forest was not the wilds. The wilds were indeed wild, but they were rolling hills and high grasses, trees of course, but the twisted, gnarled things of a swamp. The forest was claustrophobic, dark and closed in. It was misleading, distances obscured by the underbrush, and time meaningless in the constant shade of the trees until the darkness of night, when even the stars were made dim.

Morrigan hated the forest.

She had warned Elissa that they should not be caught in the woods overnight, and here they were, in a meager flat area near the river. This was exactly what she had said should not happen.

But the forest had deceived them all. 

It should have been a straight path. Clear enough to follow, over a bridge onto a bare-backed hill, then back down into a gully, which they followed West for a time until they turned, and the sun was obscured by the high walls of the hills on either side. The deep valley twisted and turned until they found the ruined wall of an ancient structure and gravesites tucked within. 

This they skirted around, wisely she thought, and continued. They found an abandoned camp before the valley dipped down and turned again. 

They followed that valley for what was very likely hours. It twisted and curved back in on itself so many times that at some point, Morrigan had lost track of which direction they must be headed. It had to be late in the day when they wound around a bend only to find themselves staring at the same ruined wall and graves.

Elissa looked startled and concerned, but she had kept her cool. Morrigan had to hand it to the woman - it took a lot to shake her.

“We turn now and head back toward the river. Clearly this path leads through a loop.”

They had done as she commanded, finally emerging from the strange darkness of the gulley on the river bed where they had first turned down the path. Now they followed the river back the other way, over a hill until they found a high point that overlooked not only the river but a clearing with a grand oak in the center that very nearly looked as if it had a face.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a fine place to camp. And with no alternative - no time to return to the Dalish camp and no time to try to navigate the forest again - it was the best case scenario.

She reminded herself once more that she had provided Elissa with the totem. She doubted very much she would sleep, but if she did, if Elissa followed her instructions, she would wake immediately if she did.

At least from here, too, a few stars twinkled above them. But it still felt dark, oppressive. And a spice floated on the breeze.

She hated the forest.

* * *

The howls woke them all, or at least those had been sleeping. Elissa had not been able to herself, and she suspected the majority of them had been awake. Alistair had been on watch when it started, and he appeared at her bed roll, as she was strapping on her armor.

Rood was immediately on edge, growling, snapping at the darkness and whining at her side. 

The fire had purposefully been kept small that night, but they gathered around its embers nonetheless. The darkness seemed to press against them, making their eyes useless, and amplifying every sound, even the gentle breeze sounding menacing now.

“Did anyone hear wolves last night, while in the camp?” Elissa asked, more trying to determine if this was just a matter of being far from the camp or not. She asked to clarify for all of them that this was just a product of being in the wilderness, that a wolf pack was simply communicating.

No one had heard anything.

“That was not a normal wolf’s call,” Sten spoke, giving voice to what they had all been thinking.

“We should be prepared,” Morrigan murmured, “We all know what is hunting us now.”

“How many?” Elissa asked, “Did anyone hear more than one?”

Still she clung to the thought that these were wolves. Everyone shook their heads.

Rood growled and backed closer to Elissa. A sniffing sound came from the hillside, followed by a strong smell of spice. The soft glow of embers now served as a detriment, casting them in light while making the world beyond even darker.

The party all turned to the outside of the circle they had made. Soft scuffling noises seemed to surround them, followed by soft snuffling, then very low and barely audible, growls. 

Elissa, for the first time that she could recall since this journey began, felt true fear in that moment. They were blind, and she realized with growing concern that they had no idea how many were surrounding them. The noises were small but persistent and somehow everywhere.

The smell of spice grew heavier, thicker, and then the darkness around them exploded with snarls, snapping jaws, and howls.

Elissa had no time to shout orders, no time to make a plan. Wolves descended upon them. She did not know how many.

The embers behind her flared suddenly, a flame shooting up into the sky, its sparks whipping out wildly, some of them catching on leaves in the tree branches that reached high up the hillside. Despite the wet that morning, it seemed the leaves were dry enough to catch or, more likely, the fire was aided by magic. The light was at first blinding, and Elissa stumbled, but it soon became both a boon and a curse.

The hill was surrounded on all sides; even with the light, she could not count the wolves, dark grey and practically climbing over one another to get to them, jaws snapping and muzzles foaming, and over it all the cloying spice smell.

Tactics and strategy had no meaning here. They were surrounded.

Leliana’s - she assumed it was Leliana - trick with the fire had pushed them back momentarily, enough time to take a breath but little else. They paused for a heartbeat, and then in a burst of movement, the wolves on all sides lunged forward.

Elissa had never fought with a shield, but she wished then that she had one. There was not just one wolf jaw lurching toward her, but perhaps three. She parried one with her sword, twisting awkwardly out of the way of a second one, so the wolf rushed past her, now flanking her. The third was met with Rood’s strong bite to its neck. It whimpered in his grip, as he shook it violently, blood spurting through his teeth, matting the fur in his bite.

The wolf she had parried pulled away from her sword before it could do any damage and ducked low, just as the one who had gone past her jumped. She threw herself back, only to be shoved roughly toward the fire.

She looked back in a frenzy, spotting Sten with a spear pulling out of the side of a wolf with his hand up. She nodded her thanks and dropped her sword - it was too heavy for the speed she needed now. She tugged her spare dagger from her belt and took a deep breath to find her rhythm.

Foot forward, both daggers down then out to the sides - fur and blood flew through the air, and she slid a leg back to side step around the snarling wolf, as it fell. Daggers back up in an arch, coming together to hit the underside of the creature with inches between them.

Another wolf came to take its place, and she repeated her tempo - daggers down and out, back up, left then right, cross before her, up, down and out, back up, left then right, cross before her, up…on and on.

The sounds of her companions bled into the tempo. There were shouts, barked orders and warnings, and every once in a while the crackling sound of magic. The hill shook at one point, Elissa stumbling with it, and she chanced a quick look to see Shale crouched, a wolf corpse crushed under her massive stone feet. 

Had she jumped on the thing? Elissa thought wildly.

There seemed no end to the wolves. The fire in the trees was still crackling, throwing harsh shadows about them, but Elissa could not spare the attention to them to make use of them. It was a battle just to stay upright. 

She became aware of pain over time. Her left arm was weak, her grip barely enough to hold onto the dagger in that hand. A quick look presented her with torn leather armor and blood oozing out in dark rivulets. Her shoulder ached, the tightness now spreading down to her side, her hip. Her breaths were sharp and painful. 

Elissa was not built for long, drawn out battles like this. She took out a target quickly and efficiently and moved on. But she was wearing down now.

And she was distracted - Hood take her, the moment she allowed herself to assess the damage was a mistake. There were two on either side, and there was no way for her to fight them back herself.

One of the snapped at her, and she barely evaded the bite, but in doing so, she put herself into position for the one slightly below on the hill.

Sharp teeth sank into her shin. She grunted at first, then screamed, as they tore through the muscle. The pain was searing. Her vision went grey for a moment, just before she landed hard on the ground, the wolf tugging her closer to it. She scrambled at the ground, grass and dirt burying under her nails, as she tried to keep herself in place. The pain in her leg crescendoed, and her hands spasmed free.

Her face was dragged over some of the wolf corpses, as she slipped over the side.

She heard the others shouting her name. An armored hand appeared over the edge, reaching blindly for her.

Her attention was slipping. The pain. It was…insurmountable. She wanted it to end. Something crunched beneath her hip; there was a small flare of pain, as if a stick was pressing against it just before it snapped, but she didn’t think much about it.

The downward angle of her sliding stopped, and the ground was starting to level beneath her. It wouldn’t be long now, surely.

A bellowed roar shook her to her core, and the pressure on her leg, which she had damn near forgotten about, suddenly came loose. 

Something huge and brown flew past her vision, but she was suddenly very aware of her leg again. With the pressure of the wolf’s teeth gone, blood was flowing quickly into the empty space left. She shouted in pain and shock, trying to sit up to quell the bleeding. She couldn’t sit up, could only sort of roll onto her side and lean weakly toward her shin. 

She immediately wished she hadn’t. 

Her armor was punctured, thick chunks of leather buried in her skin, where dark red was oozing through the ribbons that were left of her skin. There was almost no skin left over a five inch area.

Her attention was then pulled from the horror of her leg by the high pitched yelp of the wolf beyond. A huge bear, larger than any Elissa had ever seen, swung its mighty paw at it, sending it flying through the air before it hit a tree and fell limply to the ground.

The bear turned to her, then, and Elissa’s mind simply went blank. She would die in these woods. It was foolish to have come here. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, having no wish to see the bloody, foaming teeth that would be coming for her.

Time expanded.

The blow did not come. She opened her eyes again. The bear was sitting nearby, looking around and breathing heavily.

Sounds came after that.

“-lissa! Elissa! Down here! She’s with Morrigan!”

It was Alistair. Alistair, who had given her a rose. Who thought she was rare and beautiful. She smiled to herself. 

“I see her!” 

Wynne. What a wonderful woman. Old enough to be a grandmother but with the same sort of humor and energy of someone much younger.

A wet nose pressed against her neck. She flinched, but the creature whined. Rood. Oh, sweet Rood. She lifted a hand to pet the Mabari, but the hand did not move. She leaned against him instead and embraced the sweet darkness at last.

* * *

True, visceral fear crept up Alistair’s throat.

The wolves had been everywhere. He had never seen a pack so large, and they all smelled like some sort of spice. They were halfway through the battle before it dawned on him that this was the D’ivers. 

“Beings that could split into many beasts,” had been the explanation provided to them by Morrigan the day before. But he had no idea it could be quite so many.

The fight went on. And on. They seemed to just keep coming, and they didn’t go down so easy as a wolf might. They had some sort of extra protection perhaps, but they were damned hard to kill. His left arm was sore, aching in a way that it hadn’t since he first trained with sword and shield.

But none of that mattered when he saw the wolf on the hillside lunge at Elissa. Elissa who was fighting off three on her own. Elissa who had already slaughtered close to a quarter of them single handedly. Elissa who had gone into her strange sort of battle trance that he had seen in short spurts during their running battle with Darkspawn through Ostagar.

And then her leg had crumpled under the powerful bite of one of the wolves. It had shaken its head, and she toppled over, reaching madly for the ground, something to keep her at the top of the hill.

He had shouted her name and dove for her. She slipped over the edge, just as his hand reached out. He slid over the ground, still reaching desperately for her, but she was over the side, the wolf dragging her swiftly to the ground below.

His heart had crawled up his throat, even as he pushed himself wildly to his feet to stumble after them. He was halfway down the hillside when the bear tumbled down toward her. 

Morrigan, he remembered in a haze. He had seen, much to his dismay and utter disbelief, the woman blur on the hillside. She veered, shape bleeding and warping until instead of the slim woman with primly tucked black hair, an enormous brown bear stood on its hind two legs, roaring a bone-curdling cry at the wolves, who for a split second were cowed. The bear - the mage - had proceeded to swing mighty paws at the wolves surrounding them, and they fell in groups of two, three, even four.

Now it was barreling towards the wolf that held Elissa in its jaw. 

It went flying, tearing skin and meat out of the Shield Anvil’s leg, as it went. He had never been so relieved as when she moved, sitting up even slightly.

“Elissa!” he called down, then turned behind him, “She’s down here!”

Wynne had already appeared at the edge of the hill and was now making her way down, “I see her!”

He heard sounds above that led him to believe some wolves yet lived, but the fierce moments early on had calmed, and the remaining few were easy enough to deal with. He could not bring himself to go back when Elissa was below and injured.

He helped Wynne down the hill toward the Shield Anvil, stopping short at the sight of her.

Elissa’s armor was in tatters on her left leg, parts of it now embedded in her skin. She had bite wounds in her arms. A bruise was just visible on her shoulder, where her armor had been tugged down and caught during the time being dragged down the hill.

He felt sick for a moment, at a loss for what to do.

Wynne snapped at him, “Don’t just stand there. This will be difficult for her. Come here.”

He followed the instructions, settling on his knees on the other side of the healer. High Denul healing. He grimaced, “What will the cost be?”

Wynne frowned, “This is not a clean wound. This will not be easy.”

Alistair nodded, slipped Elissa’s cold, limp hand into his and held it tightly. He leaned down to her ear, “You will be alright.”

Then to Wynne, “Does it help that she’s unconscious at least?”

He knew the answer, but he wanted her to be ok. Needed her to be. The cost of this was a concern. Forced healing could break a person. He doubted that would be the case for Elissa, but she had been through enough in the past month. Wasn’t it enough? Hadn’t she done enough? Given enough? Bled enough?

He squeezed her hand hard and swallowed back his fears, his anger.

Wynne frowned more deeply, “We need to get this leather out before I heal her.”

Alistair nodded and reached for his side dagger. He handed it to the healer, feeling another wave of nausea, “Do you need my help?”

The woman was not unkind. She shook her head, “I just need light.”

“I can go get Leliana.”

“No need,” the woman’s voice drifted down, “I am here.”

The other mage finished her journey down the hillside, “The others are piling the corpses together. Morrigan has veered back and will be looking for answers.”

She said all this while creating a ball of light above Elissa. The light cast into stark reality her state. He knew it was bad. Seeing it fully lit was not better.

He could not watch, as Wynne dug the leather strips out of Elissa leg. He kept her hand in his and leaned his forehead on hers, murmuring to her, as the women worked. He spoke of the wardens that she never knew - Spark, Twitch, and others that he fought beside. He spoke of Fener. He talked about where he had found the rose. And to himself, not aloud, he begged her to come back, promised to be more bold if she did. 

“Alright,” Wynne’s voice came from his left, “that’s all of it. I’ll start now.”

He sat up once more and watched as the muscle of Elissa’s leg started to knit together. The skin above the muscle grew back, first thin, almost see-through, then the light pink of a fresh scar. It scabbed in places, then the scabs flaked off, leaving pale, grayish skin. This continued across the damaged area until every spot was at the very least pink. 

Wynne stopped, “I did not heal it completely. It might help with the spiritual and mental strain,” she explained, “but we will need to keep her out of fights for a while.”

Alistair nodded, “Let’s get her back to camp.”

“She shouldn’t walk yet.”

He gave Wynne an incredulous look, “I have no intention of making her walk.”

He gingerly slid an arm under her knees, the other under her shoulders. He braced himself and stood slowly, pulling her close against him. He could still smell the blood, and he wished he could get her a bath before she woke to the smell herself, but he would have to make do with carrying her to the camp. That he could do, and that he did.

* * *

Morrigan had known almost right away that the wolves were the D’ivers. But she hadn’t known for certain until she herself veered that the creature attacking them was Zathrian. The heightened senses that came with her Soletaken form, along with the magic connection that all shapeshifters had in common, made that clear to her.

A part of her, a very small part, mourned what she must do.

Their kind, Soletaken and D’ivers alike, were a dying breed as it was. But Zathrian was clearly mad, and he was filled with sorrow - he had killed his own clan, and he had woken with blood on his hands.

It seemed that he had forgotten his true form when veered, and when he came to again, he would be horrified to find his people culled by the wolves. It was possible that he had not even known that he himself was the one killing them. It was a sad state of affairs.

She was deep in the fight when the totem was broken, creating a sort of magical beacon. She followed it immediately; Morrigan was not the warmest person, but Elissa had truly become a friend, and she would not see the woman harmed.

When she put down the wolf attacking Elissa, it was too late. She was injured and, worse than that, she was bitten.

She veered once more when the danger had clearly passed and went immediately to Wynne, sure that she looked like a wild beast herself, even now as a woman again, “We must clean the wound.”

Alistair, Wynne, and Leliana all looked up from where the warden had just placed Elissa gingerly on a sleeping mat.

“We did.”

“His claws carry madness, Wynne. All of us carry a virus, and it will cause madness in her if we do not clear it.”

Wynne looked down at the leg, which was pink with freshly mended skin. Morrigan frowned, “Hood’s balls! Did you clean it with anything other then High Denul?”

The healer stood, hands on her hips, “I cleaned it best I could, and it’s been healed. Would you have us rip into her once more?”

Morrigan scowled, “No, of course not. Was she…did she show any signs of hallucinations? Of madness?”

Alistair shook his head, “She passed out soon after you arrived.”

“We need to monitor her.”

“Is there anything we can do, Morrigan, if she does show signs of infection?”

Morrigan opened her mouth, closed it, like a damned fish. There was nothing that could be done. Except perhaps to walk her through the ritual to become a Soletaken. But that was a drastic resolution, so she just sighed, “Perhaps she is ok. She has the favor of Fener, after all. We shall simply watch.”

She could not continue to stand there and wonder, so she bid her fellows good night and retreated to her tent. Sleep again eluded her. And she realized belatedly she had failed to mention the other information she had learned. 

Tomorrow, she resolved.


	21. Promise Kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and her company return to the Dalish camp with the news of the D'ivers.

Leliana had heard the stories like anyone else in her circles. D’ivers and Soletaken were the stuff of legends; of course they were real things, but they weren’t creatures that came to villages or towns most of the time. Even as a mage, she had not thought to meet one in her lifetime. Now she had, and she could feel the gate nearby, magic bleeding through from somewhere. 

In truth, she was more concerned with that gate than the D’ivers. Where was it? _What_ was it? The party was focused on Elissa, and rightly so, and the delay gave her a chance to research it. Research was her passion - Leliana did not like for things to be out of her grasp. She had always been one to seek out knowledge, secrets, answers. 

It would be unwise for her to go off on her own without telling anyone, of course, so she made a point to alert Shale that she would be going to check it out. The creature did not argue, one of her favorite things about it, and as a bonus, Shale could share her plan with the others, should they find her missing and ask.

The forest had the slightest hint of chaos, but something seemed to be holding it back. Tendrils of the fevered warren licked at the edges, pushed the boundaries, but it could not seem to breach the woods themselves. She didn’t know what exactly was filtering it, but she was grateful to it, just as she was curious and determined to find the answers.

Remembering what had happened when they first came into the woods, she brought her string along, tied to a tree before the gully that had taken them in a circle, and trailing along behind her. There had to be a center to the place, and she would find it if she was just smart enough about it. And paranoia had kept her alive long enough to have a back up plan, so she marked rocks with chalk, as she walked by them. 

She followed the path for an hour before taking a break, then another hour, after which she came across a chalk marking. It didn’t seem right. The area she had just been walking through was not the same landscape that she had passed the first time. She knew that to be true.

But it was a puzzle piece all the same.

There was only one warren she knew of that could change itself, that lived and breathed, that couldn’t seem to keep its own shape and path. 

Did Sten known, she wondered? All Tiste were attuned to their warrens in ways that she and her fellow mages would never understand. They were, after all, born of that warren, part of it. He had to sense it, to know what was happening here, but he said nothing - why?

Finding the gate no longer mattered - the warren was all around them, pouring out of its source, and that alone seemed able to push chaos back. 

Had Zathrian come to investigate it? Perhaps he had felt the pull of Kurald Emurlahn, and while his people more likely descended from the light-skinned and light-haired Liosan, an elder warren like this would have surely caught his attention.

Why veer?

Was it perhaps the D’ivers that came to investigate? 

Or worst of all, had Zathrian not been of sound mind when arriving? 

She had only one answer for her efforts, and she wasn’t pleased with her progress. She knew how foolish it would be to venture into Emurlahn without Sten as a guide, so with a sour mood, she resolved to return to camp and would simply…ask. An inelegant solution, but apparently necessary.

With a scowl and new resolve, she turned around and followed her string back to the source, arriving eventually in the filtered sun of the forest beyond the deep valley. 

* * *

With the D’ivers slain, the forest was safe enough again, and so they were able to take it slow leaving. They kept camp for a couple of days, allowing Elissa time to heal, Wynne keeping her in a state of unconsciousness, hoping to avoid too much struggle with the forced healing.

Sten was displeased with the way the battle had gone. The D’ivers had caught them off guard, and worse, Morrigan told them after who they had been fighting. There were still questions, too - how aware had Zathrian been? Either during the fight or before, when he had first attacked his own tribe. It seemed that he had little to no conscious thought after veering - Morrigan said as much.

As they cleaned the corpses, they counted no less than 30 wolves. Somehow 30 wolves had approached their camp with no one realizing until it was too late. And why did they howl anyway? Why give away their position just prior to attacking? 

Little, if any of it, made sense, and while they waited for Elissa to be appropriately healed, the Blight continued toward them. He didn’t blame her. He blamed Zathrian. He blamed himself and the others for not being better prepared. 

Alistair had done little more than run errands for Wynne since the first light of dawn came over the trees the morning after the attack. Leliana and Morrigan had focused on the D’ivers remains, and neither Shale nor Rood were interesting conversationalists. He supposed he himself left much to be desired in that regard anyway. Point in fact, since coming out of the shard of Emurlahn and finding himself on the farm in Lothering, Elissa had been the only person who spoke to him for any length of time.

Elissa going over the hillside had been a sort of group-wide heart attack. They had all stopped in the middle of battle to watch, as if the moment was carrying on in slow motion, Elissa falling to the ground before disappearing over the edge, with Alistair practically diving after her, and the others making a mad scramble to finish with the remaining wolves before following themselves.

The day after the near insanity of their battle, everything felt slowed down, like wading through water that was too shallow to swim in but too deep to really walk in. 

The day after that, things started to feel almost normal again, and with time not exactly working in their favor, Wynne brought Elissa back to the world of consciousness. In truth, Sten wondered if the woman would have been able to keep her under for much longer; it was obvious enough that Elissa was strong willed and very likely not easy to keep asleep.

But she was awake, and other than the haunted look in her eyes, a horror that grew, as they explained to her who exactly they had been fighting, she seemed to be her normal self. 

Sten was relieved. No one else could see this through to the end, he felt certain. And more than that, she was his friend. And she was alive.

These thoughts were front of mind when Leliana emerged on the bridge the crossed over the river to the camp, gaze angry and sweeping over their camp. She made her way up the hill, and he was given a reprieve from her intense stare for at least a moment. He assumed this was about the power in the woods, and not wishing to speak of this in front of everyone, he excused himself and made his way to the back of the camp.

He had no desire to discuss this with Leliana. She liked to collect secrets, he knew, and that wasn’t something he was in the business of providing.

He could hear the mage storming through the camp, asking after him, and telling the others that yes, everything was fine, she just needed to speak with Sten. And then she appeared, looking pointedly at him.

”You didn’t say anything,” she accused, launching in immediately.

He just shrugged, wiped his hands carefully before meeting her eyes and waiting. She stood, arms crossed, staring at him. The silence stretched long between them, and seeing that this was going to be a drawn out thing, he sat and removed his dagger from its sheath, set to sharpening it. More than once since meeting this group, he’d had to resort to using it instead of his spear.

“Hood take you, Sten. Don’t you think it would have been important, while we were wandering aimlessly through these woods, to mention the gate?”

He looked at her with a bored expression, “Would it have mattered? Once we were in the gulley, it was too late for us to use any tools to find our way back,” and here he indicated the string in her hands with his chin.

She said nothing but frowned, and he shrugged again, “What do you imagine it could have done to keep the wolves from attacking?”

At that she waved at the woods, “Perhaps Zathrian came here investigating Emurlahn, being a Tiste descendant, and that might be why he was here?”

Sten pinched his nose, “Even were that the case, Leliana, would it change anything? Emurlahn did not make him what he was. Nor did it cause whatever madness overcame him.”

The woman was scowling again, but her face was easy enough to read, and she knew that he was right. She had known the whole time, but her bid didn’t pan out - her accusation did not lead her into the answers she had expected. She didn’t need to be told that because she knew, but she had hoped that an explanation of how a shard of the broken warren arrived here. And he failed to deliver, but he found himself less concerned with that than he might.

”More likely he came hunting it down to tap into it,” she mused aloud.

Sten hummed but offered nothing further. 

“Oh, fine, don’t tell me about it,” she relented, and he just smiled before putting away his dagger and sharpening tools and returning to camp.

Despite her curiosity, her prodding, and her mood, she could not diminish his own sense of accomplishment. He would have preferred a better resolution over all, but he had been asked to find this shard, and he had. Leashing it required little effort; it could not stay anchored here, but he could nudge it in the appropriate direction, even as they prepared to leave once more on foot.

In the twilight he did his ritual, sending the gate away to the North, to his people.

On day three they were on the move again, heading back to camp, all of them trusting once more that Elissa would lead them to victory. And that she would be the one to carry the burden of telling the Dalish the truth of what had happened.

Their journey back was careful. It was clear that Elissa‘s leg was not completely healed. It was likely a mercy, the closest that Wynne could get to full healing without damaging Elissa’s mind with the forced healing. But it meant even after the two days of rest, their progress was slow. 

Sten felt it was a small price to pay.

* * *

Her leg hurt. It was a strange thing. She couldn’t tell which part of it was real and which was memory. Some of it definitely hurt, was still damaged. But some of it was more like a phantom itch. That didn’t make it hurt any less, though. And it was near constant, sometimes sharp, other times dull. 

Worse than the pain was the feeling of letting down her friends. 

No one said anything to her about it, but she had kept them in the camp for two extra days, when they all wanted nothing more than to get out of the woods. Wynne had asked her to stay off the leg for another day, to take the rest while she could, but they were all of them restless. She knew it, and she was perhaps even more restless than the others. She refused to stay another day on that Hood-damned hill. 

She hadn’t anticipated the pain in her leg being so severe. It started as a twinge, under her knee, gave her a nice wobble any time she was heading down a hill. She had never realized how much pressure was put on her legs when going downhill - uphill always seemed to be the greater of two evils, but she would have given almost anything to be scrambling up the side of a mountain instead of hobbling unsteadily down a slight incline.

After maybe a mile, she was doing a terrible job of hiding the grimaces and winces, and she had fallen back to last in their line. Shale had offered to carry her. She wasn’t sure what was more embarrassing - the offer, or the fact that she seriously considered it. 

The hike back to the Dalish camp really wasn’t a terribly long distance. She knew that. Yet still it was the longest hike of her life. 

When they finally arrived at the forest’s edge, she was slick with sweat, could feel it rolling, sticky down her back. She was wiping it out of her eyes, hand shaking with the effort she was expending. The nausea was worse than the pain by then, and she wondered vaguely if the mental scarring of a sudden, violent healing would have been better than this.

She collapsed as gracefully as possible onto a log once back in the camp, the Dalish warriors near the fire that she had found scrabbling out of her way, staring at her with awe and concern.

“Get Lanaya, please,” she gasped around a flare of pain that started in her shin and shot up to her hip.

A young man who had confided in her, before she left, that he was hoping to be allowed back into the woods to hunt, to impress a young woman, jumped up and immediately followed through with her request. Her company made a sort of half circle around her, a guard against the onlookers in the camp, while she doubled up, curled in against herself and the pain that she had become.

A wooden cup was placed in her hand, and she brought it, unsteady, to her lips. It was water, warmer than she normally would like, but she didn’t care, not now, not with the feeling of it sliding smoothly down her throat. She closed her eyes, tried to savor the feeling of it trickling through her, imagined it reaching out through her limbs, breathing life into them.

The pain lessened.

It was replaced with dread, when Lanaya approached, curious and concerned in equal turn, “Shield Anvil? Are you alright?”

She nodded, squared her shoulders as best she could and stretched her leg out gingerly, not bothering to hide the wince this time, “I will be.“

”What…happened?”

Lanaya looked pointedly at her leg, and she shrugged, “Oh, well, a wolf bite.“

She knew her vague answer was not sufficient for the woman, and she was being unfair, drawing out the inevitable to stave off her own discomfort. She cleared her throat, motioned for Morrigan to bring the meager evidence that they had to her. It was not much, a necklace that they had seen him wearing when they arrived in the camp and had found on one of the wolves.

“Lanaya,” she began, cutting herself off and hating herself for her cowardice. Only one way forward, she thought grimly. She looked down at her leg, pictured the pink, raw skin beneath the bandages that Wynne had expertly wrapped around it. She could do this, surely.

“We were able to kill the D’ivers. It was…not easy. But it is done. And what’s more, we have some bad news.”

Still a coward, the words would not leave her lips, locked themselves in her throat instead, mocking her with their presence. She stared down at the necklace in her fingers then held it out to the woman.

She heard the soft gasp, the long pause, then the quietly spoken, “Oh, Zathrian, no.”

She gave the woman a moment to compose herself. This was not easy for either of them. But she sought to provide comfort. Comfort she had been unable to give to Zathrian. By the time he had actually died, she had already passed out. She could not accept his pain, and perhaps that was the worst part of all that had happened, after all.

Lanaya took a deep breath, “Thank you for telling me. Was it…did he…?”

Morrigan took over, and Elissa hoped that her line would be long blessed for the kindness she showed both women in that moment.

“It seems that he lost himself when he veered. It’s not uncommon, and it’s even more common with a D’ivers. The power to create one must be stronger than that to create a Soletaken, but it is also more dangerous. Somewhere nearby perhaps is a source, a gate, and that caused him to have even less control. Accordingly…he veered, and he attacked, but it was not with malice.”

Lanaya nodded briefly, “Thank you again, then. It seems perhaps that he has found peace.”

Elissa stared down at her leg, thought of the past week, and shook her head, “I am truly sorry, Lanaya. I had hoped to be able to help your people, find a way to resolve this and have you all safe.”

”You could not have known,” she shook her head, “and you did more than any other shemlen we have encountered.”

Elissa nodded, though she felt terribly hollow, “What happens now? Is there anything we can do?”

The woman looked out over the camp. They had been afforded privacy, but no doubt it was clear to the all in the camp that something was amiss, perhaps that something had gone wrong.

”I will take over as the clan’s Keeper. I will continue to guide them as Zathrian did. And,” she stood, offered her hand in a decidedly human gesture, “we will support you.”

Elissa stood as well, effectively ignoring the pain in her leg this time, to take the offered hand, “Lanaya, thank you. I had not meant to sound as though I was asking for a favor in return.”

”I know. And that is why you did not need to ask.”

Elissa nodded slowly, truly humbled. 

“Now let’s get you some rest. I can see that your leg is causing you pain. Was that…?”

Another nod, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it, to tell the woman what had happened. What good would it do? They had done enough already. A moment. Just one more before they had to continue their journey once more.

* * *

Wynne and Alistair both insisted that Elissa take her time recovering for a while - just a while - in the safety of the Dalish encampment. Alistair was both amazed and grateful that she listened to them, but he was also worried - clearly she was still in pain, if she was willing to take their advice and take it easy. Though staying also gave them the opportunity to plan and strategize with the Dalish hunters and fighters.

He knew, of course, that Elissa was brilliant, but he didn’t know how learned she was about warfare. He had learned, both in his time studying history at the temples, and as part of his Order training; apparently she had learned as part of her schooling at home.

“I would prefer to set the terms of the engagement, but the likelihood of that is rather slim. The Darkspawn are pressing hard from the South, and we’ll simply have to prepare for the hammer blow,” she was saying now.

“The goal should be to get them to Denerim,” Alistair offered, pointing to the aging map they currently surrounded, “It’s defensible, and with enough time, we could clear the civilians before they arrive.”

Elissa nodded, “I’d like a backup plan. And I’d like to know where we are sending the civilians.”

He shrugged, as if it should be obvious, “Highever?”

She met his eyes, studying him. Did she think he had said it in jest? To bring up the painful recent past? But she smiled, “That’s brilliant. If I can get word to Fergus, he can head North swiftly with his remaining retinue and make ready the castle.”

With that statement, she frowned, looked down and away, then cleared her throat, “Right. So, as it pertains to the Dalish. You are our best chance at a swift flanking maneuver.”

Seeing her control slipping, he stepped up beside her, hand on her back for just a moment, just to indicate that he could take it from there, “Assuming we are able to get to Denerim, that would mean coming around from the East, here,” he pointed to the map, drawing the path that would take them to the open, Eastern side of the city, where they could press quickly in towards the keep. He realized belatedly his hand was still at Elissa’s back, and he drew it away.

She cleared her throat, “If we’re unable to make it that far, we’ll follow through with a standard single envelopment - a hammer and anvil, as I believe you may know it. The terrain around Denerim is wide open. It’s not ideal, but we could make use of the cover of these hills,” she indicated to them on the map, “and whatever else is available to us.”

“We’ll hope for the city then,” their commander smiled ruefully.

Elissa chuckled, nodded, “I think we’ve done all that we can. If you’d like, we can take a runner along with us, so that we can stay in contact easily.”

The commander, a woman with dark hair for a Liosan descendant nodded, “I know just the scout,” and with that, she departed the small tent they had put up for just this sort of meeting.

“We’ll get Denerim,” Alistair offered, when they were alone again, “I can feel it.”

“It will still be a tough fight. They have numbers over us probably ten times over. We will need to walk the city, if we’ve time before, and find the choke points,” she was still staring at the map.

“Hey,” he started, his voice softer and lower than he intended, though the surprised look that she gave him, and the subtle heat behind it, made him think he should speak this way more often, “We’re not going to solve this today. So we should probably focus on our next move instead. Right?”

She offered him a grateful smile, nodded, “Of course. Thank you. Alistair.” 

I should leave, he thought. I should let her rest, and I should stop thinking that this is anything more than camaraderie that’s been forged in these desperate times. 

But she was silhouetted against the backdrop of the tent, and he was reminded of how devastatingly beautiful she was. How warm she was. How kind, patient, witty, funny, smart…oh no, he was fooling himself.

He cleared his throat, as if that could loosen his chest, “How is your leg feeling? Better?”

Perhaps in answer, she raised it, bent then straightened the knee, “Better every day,” she assured him, “I still can’t believe I was so careless.”

“Careless? There were 25 wolves. It’s a miracle any of us even survived, much less all of us.”

She shrugged, “25 to start perhaps, but there were considerably fewer of them by the time this happened. Perhaps it is good we are slowing the pace, even just for a while. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so tired.”

I should be doing more, he thought. Though what that more would be, he was at a loss to define. He had no wish to undermine her authority, no desire to usurp - was that even the right word? He trusted her to lead and lead well, and that was enough, surely.

“Elissa, if there’s anything you need,” he finally managed to speak aloud, though he trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. If there’s anything you need, I will stop at nothing to get it for you. It was true, but it was bold, bolder than he could really afford to be.

She nodded, and he thought for a moment that perhaps she understood what he was saying. She was perceptive. It was certainly possible. 

“I think a walk would be nice?”

It was worded as a question, and it took him a beat before he realized it was, in fact, an invitation. He smiled, nodded, “I believe it would.”

They didn’t dare stray too far from the camp, not with Elissa’s leg in the shape it was in, and not with everyone on edge, as they marched on to the final battle. It wouldn’t come yet; they still had time, but that time was growing shorter with every day that they were together. He would take whatever time he could.


	22. At Camp 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party rests after the brief but exciting foray into the Brecilian Forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Zevran. In one of my playthroughs, I had started an Alistair romance, but after allowing Loghain to join the wardens, Zevran stepped in. And it was rather tempting to pull that through to this story, but that would have been so much to shove in towards the end...

The Brecilian Forest had taken its toll on their party. Everyone was tired. Elissa put on a brave face, but the lingering pain was evident, and Wynne had expended a lot of energy to keep their leader unconscious so she could heal. That followed by delivering the terrible news that not only was Zathrian dead, but that he was the one who had attacked the clan to begin with. For the first time since his travels with them began, Zevran saw a team that was worn out, tired of fighting.

As a lover of the finer things in life, he felt it his duty to improve morale -- if not for everyone than at the very least for Elissa. 

She had taken their failure rather personally, it seemed to him, pulling back and away from them all. She was still warm, but she was putting distance between herself and the others, perhaps feeling unsure of things for the first time. For a woman with the casual confidence with which she usually carried herself, it was painful to see her so withdrawn and closed off. 

He aimed to do something about it, and so he found himself outside of her tent, careful to go unseen by their group members before slipping in with a slight throat clearing to announce himself.

She was lying back, propped up on a log and her pack, healing leg stretched out before her, and the other tucked under it. She was darker skinned than most of the people he’d seen in Ferelden, and the shadows of the low light within cast her in even darker, almost mysterious tones. She was rather beautiful; that much was obvious to anyone -- smooth skin that he just knew would feel like silk under his fingertips, full lips that no doubt would be wonderful to nibble on with his teeth, and piercing eyes that he would not mind gazing into.

She looked up at him, eyebrow raised in question, “Zevran, do you stare at everyone like that?”

So he had been caught; she was wickedly perceptive, too, “Not everyone, no. But a beautiful woman, such as yourself? I am sure you are used to men - and women - casting wanton gazes at you.”

She grinned and shrugged.

“But then I suppose you would like for me to stop?”

Another shrug, “Oh I don’t mind.”

She ended it there, which was unusual. He had come to know the warden as a shameless flirt, and here she was throwing in the towel, as they say, so easily.

He smiled more fully at her, hoping for debonair, “My dear warden, it is obvious to myself, and I dare say to the rest of our party, that you are feeling not quite yourself. I wish to offer my services to remedy whatever doubts are lingering within you.”

“Is that so, Zevran? And what did you have in mind?”

Was he imagining the low, sultry tone? Perhaps just a desire demon, toying with him.

“A massage, of course. I can only assume that with your leg not quite fully healed, you could be experiencing discomfort in other places as well - leg to hip and hip to back. Perhaps your shoulders have become sore? But I can offer whatever you like, of course.”

This time he watched her face carefully, gauging her reaction. If she was amenable to it, he could think of other ways to make her feel good, bring back her resolve, her drive. Her passion. He was very good at helping men and women find their passion. Or so he had been told -- never received a complaint, at the very least.

She studied him quietly, no doubt clearly understanding his intent. She did not strike him as a woman who did not indulge in carnal pleasure. Rather it seemed she was a woman who knew exactly what she liked and had no qualms with requesting, or he thought with some excitement, perhaps even demanding, what she pleased from her lovers. The way she was looking at him, appraising him, made that clear enough.

After some time she spoke, looking down and picking at her blue tunic -- a bright color that looked absolutely stunning against the warm hues of her skin, “If I were to accept this offer, what would that mean?”

He was confused at first; did she wish for him to describe to her what he would do? That was certainly enticing, but it seemed not to be the nature of her question, so he went down the path of what a night of passion might mean in a greater context, “It would mean whatever you wish for it to mean, of course. I can be as discreet as you wish for me to be, truly the very epitome of discretion.”

She bit her bottom lip, studied him a moment longer, “And what of the part that has nothing to do with the others?”

He shrugged, “I would prefer not to mince words. I am offering physical entertainment, either to relax you or to at the very least wear you out enough to make you sleep. Nothing more or less than that, my dear warden. Or at least it does not have to be any more than that.”

At his final sentence, she arched her eyebrow again, her face shifting slightly, as if solving a puzzle, then it softened, and she offered him a genuine smile, “Zevran, I appreciate the offer, but I am truly alright. I would not say no to a simple neck massage, but I don’t think I’d be able to accept anything more.”

His disappointment was real but not unexpected. He gave her a bow, “As you command, Shield Anvil.”

Her smile did not change, “Thank you. How would you like me?”

In so very many ways, he thought, but it was clear enough that the moment had passed, perhaps forever, so all he said was, “You do not need to move a muscle, my dear.”

He entered the tent more fully and positioned himself behind her. He allowed himself the moment to wonder at her slender, wonderfully delicate neck, which he knew of course was not so fragile as it seemed. She kept her hair cut exceptionally short, shaved close, so it was soft; he tapped gentle lines from the crown of her head, down to her neck - tap, tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap, tap. He pressed his fingers into her neck, following it down to her shoulders. She let out a soft groan of appreciation, and he willed himself to remain calm, though the sound stirred him. 

“You see? You are very tense. I knew exactly what you needed.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Most assuredly. When I am done with you, you will feel like none of the past week even happened.”

She laughed, “I said a neck massage only.”

“You have no idea how good at massage I am,” he teased, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of her skin under his fingertips. 

“I suppose that’s fair,” she mused, then dropped her chin to her chest and allowed him to work.

After the silence stretched for a while, she looked up suddenly, her face pointed in what could be seriousness, though a smile played on her lips, “Wait just a minute, Zev. Did you come in here to kill me?”

He stopped his ministrations to drag his finger around to the front of her throat, drew a line there, relished in the slight shudder that followed, “You have found out my wily ways. I suppose I shall have to turn myself in now.”

“Unless I kill you first?”

He could not help himself. She was baiting him, and he was falling right into her trap, and he knew it, even as he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “A little death isn’t so terrible, is it?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaled sharply. He waited. A part of him hoped. 

“Elissa?”

Alistair’s voice carried in easily from just outside, and she sat up straighter. So it was as he thought. He pulled his hands away from the front of her neck and went back to her shoulders, digging into the muscle just enough to work out the knots.

“Come on in, Alistair.”

The man appeared, ducking through the flap, stopping short upon seeing Zevran there. His face became rather guarded, and Zevran was surprised at how well he kept his feelings obscured, though having spent as much time together as they all had, it was pointless.

“Would you care for a massage, Alistair?” Zevran nodded toward his working hands.

“Me? No. No, I…I can come back?”

“I wouldn’t have invited you in if it wasn’t a good time or I didn’t want you in here,” Elissa laughed, waving for him to sit with them.

The man was awkward about it, but to his credit, he walked further in and sat across from Elissa, offered her a smile, nodded politely to Zevran, “How are you feeling?”

She inclined her head back toward his hands, “Well I’m feeling pretty relaxed at the moment. Magic fingers, this one.”

Alistair glanced over her shoulder, cleared his throat, “I see.”

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want a massage, my friend?” Zevran was more than willing -- both of them were attractive, and while he felt just a little more for Elissa, Alistair wouldn’t be a bad way to expel some of his own stress. It was unlikely the young man would take him up on the offer.

“Ah, no thanks,” he confirmed. 

Zevran smiled and shrugged, while Elissa rolled her neck slightly, “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Red crept into the man’s face, just slightly, and he rubbed the back of his head, shaking it, “Oh, no, it’s…no, we can talk later.”

Perhaps something in his voice had her straightening, but she turned and smiled at him, “Zev? Would you mind giving us just a minute? I truly appreciate the help.”

“Any time, my dear warden,” he purred, sliding his hands from her shoulders slowly and deliberately. He did not mean to be an ass, but he had to know for sure, and the way that Alistair’s eyes tracked the movement of his hands was clear enough. Along with being dismissed, it was obvious that he was, as they say, late to the party.

He stopped at the tent flap and bid them farewell with an elaborate bow, and while he delighted in Elissa’s laughter, he had to flee before his face crumpled. This was all ridiculous anyway -- falling in love was exactly what would get him killed. But, he supposed, it meant that she would not be killed, and a world with Elissa Cousland, whether in love with him or not, was a world worth living in.


	23. The Gates Are Closed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa leads part of her group to Orzammar, hoping to discover the source of an open gate and recruit some of the underground society's legendary sappers. But what she finds is a kingdom immersed in its own deep troubles.
> 
> Of course despite there, a small personal triumph occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orzammar and the Deep Roads make up something like a quarter of this entire thing...did NOT see that coming when I first embarked on this chapter...

“Our next stop is Orzammar,” Elissa addressed them the morning prior to entering the Frostback mountains in earnest, “It’s our best chance at finding a map to the Deep Roads, where Leliana, Morrigan, and our allies from Kinloch Hold believe they have sensed the source of the gate to Omtose Phellack. And my personal favorite bonus: their sappers are the best out there, and I don’t relish going into a battle outnumbered without some crazy men and women who like explosives to join us.”

Most of the group chuckled at that, at least. Only Wynne seemed hesitant about it, but she kept whatever concerns she had to herself.

“Orzammar is notorious for refusing to leave their stronghold - what makes you think this will be different?” Leliana pressed.

Elissa had come to appreciate the woman’s doubts and questioning. She kept her on her toes, never willing to take something at face value. It was an incredibly valuable outlook, and it made Elissa prepare well ahead of every conversation like this, made her anticipate what opposition she might face. It was, in fact, great practice for managing a campaign, though she did wish there was another person who could see to it sometimes. Alistair had been coming into his own and was, in fact, the one who suggested they make the journey, despite how long it would push them back. Even more surprising was that Morrigan had agreed, citing claims that an ancient gate was buried under the city - a gate to Omtose Phellack, she believed.

“I don’t believe they will be, Leliana. I expect we will have to find a way to convince them. A tit for tat, as they say. I also anticipate,” she added, feeling some pride for getting out ahead of this potential question, “that Loghain will be similarly attempting to recruit them. Though he wouldn’t know about the gate, nor care if he did, most likely.”

At that the group went silent, each considering the implications.

“We are a smaller number,“ she agreed with their unspoken concerns, “but we also have the benefit of the Reve - Dwarves are loyal to D’rek as a people, but their warrior caste are devout followers of Fener. Regardless I will not make demands.”

Morrigan waved toward Elissa’s pack, where the Otataral blade was still bundled, “And your blade? The Dwarves work with Lyrium, and it’s known to react badly with the substance.”

Elissa did not, in fact, know that. And prior to Flemeth handing them the blade and explaining its potential power, she had never even heard of Otataral. Since then, and especially while visiting Kinloch Hold, she had learned more of it - that it was exceedingly rare in these lands, but on other continents, there were mines built exclusively to retrieve it.

“Will it pose a threat, if we keep it wrapped, as it is?”

Morrigan shrugged. While her taciturn behavior could be trying at times, Elissa reminded herself that if Morrigan had no answer, she would not grasp in the dark for one. The woman had to be sure of herself before she would speak, and there was wisdom to that. It only bothered her because she could not afford the same luxury. 

“We’ll have to risk it,” Alistair advised, “it’s not safe to leave anywhere else.”

“What about with your precious Arl Eamon?” Morrigan teased.

Alistair leveled her with a look more bold than they had seen from him when their journeys began, “And what can he do with it? According to Leliana’s last messages, he was heading to Denerim to await us. He will be calling a Landsmeet, which means other Arls and Banns will be attending his estate there. And who can we trust?”

Pride swelled in Elissa. Alistair was coming into his own. She had seen his battle prowess, and in their private conversations, though he was at times bashful, it was clear that he was intelligent and learned in the art of war, of strategy. He had had his confidence stripped in order to become a Templar - she knew how the temples treated their recruits for guard and martial duties. 

“We will take it with us. Unless it becomes a clear danger, we keep this artifact to ourselves. Is that clear?”

Unanimous nods. She smiled at them all, “Very well. Let’s get on some warm travel gear and start hiking. We’ve a two day hike ahead of us.”

The main camp would stay put in the foothills, and she and her direct party would travel light up to the mountain entrance of the great underground city of Orzammar. Elissa knew admittedly little of the race known as Dwarves - shorter than humans and Tiste, devoted to the Stone - the warren of D’rek, and every one of them trained in either smithing, fighting, or Lyrium handling. She knew little of Lyrium, short of it being used for explosives and some sort of enhancement drug for mages. The Dwarves largely kept to themselves, and she had heard, though she wasn’t sure if it was true, that their empire once spanned most of the continent, underground and connected through vast caverns.

Their army had helped fight a previous Blight, Alistair had told her. Their underground cities had fallen in the past to Darkspawn who had come out of massive gates that opened between them. Some scholars believed that the gates were easier to open because of the Lyrium. Whatever the cause, many Dwarves had died, and they now had a vendetta against the Darkspawn any time they reappeared in the world.

It was a lot to gamble on, but Elissa had few options. And she would kiss Hood’s feet before she let Teyrn Loghain recruit their aid first. 

The mountain pass was easy to traverse, considering. It had to be. Orzammar relied heavily on trade, and they wanted it to be easy for their customers to bring wide, heavy wagons back and forth between their massive gates and the bottom of the mountain. 

Elissa herself had never been there, but her father had told her stories of the great underground city. The Couslands had more than a few trade deals with the Dwarves; she wondered if they knew yet what had happened to her family. She swallowed the thought, something that was becoming easier at least, with each passing day and each rise of the stakes they faced.

* * *

They would only need to sleep out in the tents for one night, if their maps were correct, which was good, as the temperatures encountered the further into the mountains they went got colder and colder. But there was something charming about the snow, and Alistair had to admit that he was enraptured even further by Elissa when it began to fall around them. 

She grumbled about it, but she was damn near ethereal in it, and Alistair found himself breathless. He had promised himself and her, though she hadn’t been aware of anything at the time, that he would be bolder, that he would not let whatever this was slip away without at least trying for it. 

Thus he talked Sten into taking second watch, instead of first; Leliana was busy working on a way to find the gate, muttering into some strange rock that apparently allowed her to converse with Morrigan; and he made a cozy fire for Wynne to pitch her tent near to keep her warm, so that as the first stars began to show themselves, he and Elissa were blessedly alone, save for Shale, standing still by Leliana’s tent, and Rood, who had flopped merrily by the main, larger fire and was biting at the snow as it fell.

And he was ridiculously nervous. Enough that Elissa noticed.

“Alistair? Are you alright?”

She needed to stop saying his name that way - warm and fond, making him think that there was something really there, something under the surface of her kindness that was reserved for him.

He nodded, waved out at the landscape, “It’s, uh, just…I haven’t been here before.”

She had wrapped a bright green scarf around her head, given her short-cropped hair - even as it was growing out slightly, it was chilly enough, and it stood out so wonderfully against the backdrop of snow.

“Neither have I,” she mused, stepping up to his side, “it’s truly beautiful.”

He sighed, turned to her, studied her, and she met his gaze, curious but open, and he could feel his chest becoming heavy, his heart straining against the cage of his ribs. He had to say something. Before he lost his chance. Before someone else swooped in and offered to care for her in the ways that he wanted to. Swooping _was_ bad.

“Elissa,” he began, finally, “I…”

He had fought Darkspawn. He had fought a D’ivers. He had also seen her dragged like a rag doll over the crest of a hill and disappear. His resolve strengthened. 

“All this time we’ve spent together,” he began, the words coming out more quickly than he anticipated, as if he had planned them, “you know, the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us…”

She arched an eyebrow at him, nodded slowly.

“Will you…miss it? Once it’s over?”

She smiled at him, “It makes me tear up just thinking about it.”

He chuckled, picking up the conversational thread she handed him, “Ah, yes. There’ll be…no more fighting for our lives. No more Darkspawn. No more, ugh, no more camping in the middle of nowhere,” he bemoaned.

Her smile broadened, and he was bolstered by that, “I know it…might sound strange considering we haven’t known each other for very long, but I’ve come to…,” he paused, wondering just how honest to be. He tempered himself, unsure if the constricting in his chest when he looked at her was just a product of their circumstances and not wishing to push too hard. Finally settled, he continued, “To care for you.”

“A great deal,” he added with a huff at the end.

He studied her face while he spoke to her, noted the slight widening of her eyes, the parting of her lips. But he couldn’t hold her eyes, his own dropping down, nervous once more, instead focusing on his boot, which he dug into the snow while he shrugged, “I think maybe it’s because we’ve been through so much together. I don’t know. Or maybe…I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m fooling myself.”

He hadn’t meant to say all of that, put so much of himself out there for her, but there it was, and he looked back up into her eyes, which had softened, “Am I? Fooling myself?"

She shook her head slowly in answer, mouth open but no words coming out, and there was no reason for him to stop, then, right? He leaned forward, slid his hand over her cheek, savoring the soft skin there, leaned down - he hadn’t really noticed the true span of their height difference before - and brushed her lips with his.

It was a soft thing, a question, a hope, and she answered in kind, sliding her lips over his in return and stepping closer to him, hand on his chest. He had closed his eyes, letting himself fall into the moment, feel her against him, savor the taste of her tongue against his when they brushed together, but he opened them as he pulled away, staring dumbfounded at her for a moment.

She stared back at him, and despite the intimacy of the gesture they just shared, he began to feel nervous again, “That,” he sighed, looked away and shifted his weight, “that wasn’t too soon, was it?”

When he met her eyes once more, they were sparkling. She gripped the front of his armor, tugged, and in a voice tinged with laughter and affection, drawled, “I don’t know, Alistair. I think I’ll need more testing to figure it out.”

He smirked, looked away feeling bashful, “Well I'll have to arrange that then, won’t I?”

When he looked at her again, she was smiling at him, green scarf fluttering in the breeze, cheeks darkened perhaps from the wind or maybe from the kiss, and his mouth went dry, “Hood take me, but you are beautiful. I am a lucky man.”

He cleared his throat, embarrassed at the way his voice cracked on the words, stepped away just slightly, “Now, let’s get back to, um, what we were doing, lest I forget why we’re here.”

At that she smiled again, even more broadly, top teeth digging into her bottom lip and stepped away, granting him space, and nodded. She continued to smile even as she gestured toward the camp and backed away, eyes on him until she had to turn to better traverse the ground, and he felt warmer than he had since the journey began.

* * *

Wynne had slept well for being on a cold mountainside, thanks in great part to the small fire that Alistair had built specially for her. She was far enough to avoid it being a hazard but close enough that its warmth bled into the tent and helped keep the interior cozy. When she awoke the following morning, she felt well rested and alert, enough so that it was clear that something had happened between their fearless leader and her fellow warden the night prior. 

She was almost sad that she had missed it. 

The tension between the two was still there, but it was considerably lessened, and Alistair’s cheeks flushed when he looked at her all morning.

But whatever it was didn’t stop them from moving forward, following the wide path up the mountain to the gates of Orzammar. She had never been to the great dwarven city and was excited to have the chance to explore another culture. It was said that Dwarves had no mages born amongst them, and yet they lived near veins of Lyrium - perhaps that was the reason, she mused, but she wasn’t a scholar of calibre enough to truly theorize on it. No doubt Leliana had some thoughts, but she was often preoccupied, and their hike up the mountain proved no exception.

The forest on the mountainside was less intimidating than the Brecilian Forest they had so recently traversed. It felt different, and she realized belatedly that the mountain was blessedly clear of the taint of chaos. The warrens were still somehow clean here, despite knowing that Darkspawn, and with them the taint of chaos, often made homes underground.

It explained her better sleep, as well, now that she considered it, and possibly the improved moods of her companions.

Though Sten was as quiet a traveller as ever, taking point and watching for any incoming attacks, with Rood loping happily nearby. And Leliana continued to be, well, Leliana, enigmatic and always staring somewhere in the distance, as if preparing for a strategic move some five steps ahead.

Yes - something had certainly happened. Alistair and Elissa were walking rather close, and he was saying something to her that had her smiling broadly. It was cute, adorable even, and though she herself had seldom indulged in romantic luxuries, she was pleased to watch this small romance bloom. She hoped it did not end in disaster, that they would find each other to be charming and complementary even after the fighting had stopped. That they would both survive to have that chance, even. Elissa certainly deserved some rest after all of this was over.

The day passed by quickly, and the sun was close to setting when they arrived at the great stone steps that would take them to gates of the city. They were blessedly short, leading to a round sort of courtyard with merchants around its perimeter, and on the far end from where they stood, the massive stone doors that would take them into the city itself.

There seemed to be a row happening at the gates, and Elissa and Alistair exchanged looks before Elissa called Rood and Sten back from the front, and Wynne approached as well, Leliana trailing after.

“I recognize him from some of the various events I attended before,” Elissa was saying, “no doubt he is here on behalf of Loghain. We might be too late.”

“They don’t appear to be letting them in,” Wynne pointed out, and to that Elissa could only nod.

“Alistair, you said that the Dwarves have been supporters of the Order?”

“For many years.”

“Alright. Then we lean on that. We’ll invoke the Reve and see what happens.”

Alistair glanced at the party currently arguing with the guards outside, “There are only three of them, so if it comes to it, just keep to my left. Please.”

Elissa agreed to the request with a nod, then indicated that they should move. She took point now, leading their small group across the open circle in the middle of the market and up the final few steps to the gates.

One of the men was shouting at an unimpressed guard, “I demand an audience with a representative of your king! You insult all of Ferelden with your actions - King Loghain will not suffer the delay of his appointed messenger.”

Elissa snorted at that and came to a stop to the right of the shouting man, keeping to Alistair’s left, as he had asked.

The guard ignored their approach, shaking his head and making a swiping motion with his hand, “Veata! This land is held in trust for the sovereign dwarven kings. I cannot allow entry at this time.”

The messenger scowled, “King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyr or lords or whatever you call them in your Assembly! I am his appointed messenger.”

The guard frowned, his next words nearly a growl, “I don’t care if you’re the king’s wiper. Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled.”

Elissa exchanged a look with Alistair at that. She looked worried for a moment, “Is something wrong with King Endrin? I had important business with him in Orzammar.”

The messenger looked at her and sneered, “None more important than _mine_.”

Alistair put a hand on her back when she started to move, keeping her still and calm. 

“Your business will wait,” the guard repeated, “Orzammar must limit outside influence until the throne is settled. No one gets in.”

“I need to speak with King Endrin,” Elissa repeated.

“Who doesn’t? If I don’t get in, no one should,” Loghain’s rat commented again, and once more it seemed Alistair’s hand on her was the only reason Elissa didn’t immediately attack the man.

“Orzammar has no king at the moment. Endrin Aeducan returned to the stone not three weeks ago, sick with the loss of his sons.”

Elissa frowned, “Oh. Oh, I’m…so sorry to hear that.”

The guard nodded slightly, appreciative of her condolences, “The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing on a successor. If it’s not settled soon, we risk a civil war.”

Elissa looked to Alistair, then between the messenger and the guard, before standing somewhat straighter, “The Order of the Grey is in need of its traditional dwarven allies.”

The messenger glared at them, “The Order killed King Cailan and nearly doomed all of Ferelden! They are sworn enemies of King Loghain!”

The Dwarf looked at Elissa, “I see. We’ve no king, but you could invoke the Reve with the Assembly.”

“You’re letting in a traitor? And a foreigner? In the name of King Loghain, I demand that you execute this…stain on the honor of Ferelden!”

Elissa turned slowly, “Return to your false king and tell him that his demands will not be heard today.”

Something in her voice, perhaps, had the messenger backing away, “You…we’ll be back for you.”

“You won’t need to look far. I’m coming for him soon enough.”

“Traitor!” he shouted, though he and his small guard left without further fuss. 

The guard watched them go with a bored expression then turned back to Elissa, “You’re free to enter Orzammar, Grey Warden, but I don’t know what help you’ll find.”

She bowed her head, “Thank you, regardless.”


	24. The Would Be King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa's party meets with Lord Harrowmont's people in an effort to get a map for the Deep Roads, and it involves something called a Proving.

Walking through the gates, Sten was impressed by the scale that met them once inside. He had expected to have to stoop, given the height of most Dwarves, but the ceiling was high, cavernous, with great stone statues carved into the very rock, reaching up, as if to keep the cave from collapsing. At the base of each one was an inscription, written in a language he did not understand, but presumably explaining the purpose for each statue. 

Throughout the great hall they overheard conversations between denizens of the city, discussing the politics, the current situation apparently rather dire. The king had died, naming a successor other than his son. Some believed that the son had poisoned his father and so supported the man the king had named. Others said that it was lies, that the son would not have done such a thing, it was all slander, and the son was the rightful king.

Sten thought that the drama around the throne was fitting of a Tiste bloodline. The last time he had heard of such squabbles it had been after the fall of Scabandari Bloodeye. Regardless it was boring to him, and for Elissa it meant yet another obstacle, and not one that could simply be cut down. 

He understood that she had been raised in some sort of lordship, royalty or nobility of some kind for her people, and still she wished to play no part in these games. They eavesdropped because they needed to navigate what they had been told was a difficult situation, and by the time they had reached the next set of doors that would take them into Orzammar proper, Elissa had already advised that the first of these candidates they came into contact with would be the one she supported, if it became necessary.

“It will absolutely become necessary,” he pointed out, and she had groaned in a comically over-exaggerated way.

They were greeted by even more guards once within the city itself, warned not to make trouble in the town, given there was enough happening in the city at the moment.

“I assure you, I am only here for a map to the Deep Roads and maybe to recruit some aid, and we will be on our way. We need to speak to the Assembly; where would we go to do so?”

“The only way to get a map of the Deep Roads is with a writ from a noble allowing the Shaperate to release one. The Assembly is closed, outsider.”

Elissa pursed her lips, “I understand that, but I’ve invoked the Reve to get into the city.”

The guard blinked stupidly for a moment, “Oh. You’re the Grey Warden. I see. Well then, yes, you’ll want the Diamond Quarter, but you should know - it won’t be easy. The Assembly is in session, trying to determine who the next king of Orzammar will be. They’ve been in a deadlock for weeks, and they won’t open their doors until a decision has been reached.”

Elissa allowed him to explain the situation, though of course they had already been apprised. Multiple times, both directly and indirectly. He marvelled once again at her patience, even though he could see her urge to move simmering under the surface.

“Well if we can help in any way, we will; otherwise we will be out of your hair just as quickly as possible,” she assured the man before stepping onto the main path that would take them to the area indicated. 

The architecture of the place was impressive, stunning even, but Sten found himself far less impressed with the people milling about. They were all of them speaking of the same thing and none of them doing a Hood-damned thing about it. They were trying to continue on as if nothing were different, while all the while talking endlessly about the troubles they faced.

Pick a damn king, he wanted to snarl at them, what difference will it make? Eventually he will die, and then you can move on to the next one. 

The market here was grander than the one they had passed outside, and it was clear enough that wealth and status held a lot of meaning for the people of Orzammar. They walked through a good portion of it, merchants selling everything from fine arms and armor to foodstuffs, none of which looked terribly appealing to him, lining the broad path that they followed toward the large doors indicated by the guard.

The gate they entered opened into an impossibly grander walkway, towering buildings carved right into the stone dominating one side of the thoroughfare, the other boasting an impressive cliff face that looked down into the bowels of the earth. There were no merchants here, only men and women in finery that clearly announced their wealth.

As they walked, criers announced the most recent updates on the ongoing race for the throne, though with clear bias. The Assembly was halfway down the winding road, according to the guard who they asked, and that was where they were headed.

The Assembly hall itself had double staircases leading to wide doors, both of which were closed. Elissa stood before them, hands on her hips, staring up at the massive entrance with a scowl on her face, “Think they’ll let us in?”

“Only one way to find out,” he shrugged and stepped up to tug on the door. It opened, and they stepped into the dimly lit hallway of the Assembly, greeted by the muffled shouting of those within.

* * *

They had taken approximately seven steps into the open hall of the Assembly before a Dwarf approached them, voice low, so as to avoid being heard by all within, “Grey Warden. I heard you were here. I am Dulin Forender, second to Lord Harrowmont, king Endrin’s own choice as successor.”

Elissa shared a look with her companions - the first one to approach, she had said, and so it was decided, but she allowed him to continue after a nod and, “Elissa Cousland.”

“Word is spreading that the surface may suffer a Blight. It is shameful we are not in a better position to help.”

Elissa bowed her head in thanks, “Thank you. I would speak to Lord Harrowmont, in fact.” 

She did not imagine the small smile under the man’s mass of facial hair before a more evident frown appeared, “I understand, but he cannot afford to meet anyone with unproven loyalties at this time, not while Bhelen is still fighting for the throne.”

Elissa bit the inside of her cheek to remain patient, “I understand, but I am clearly not part of this political battle. I only seek a writ to retrieve a map from the Shaperate and, if I could press my luck, the aid of some sappers.”

“The men who should be fighting Darkspawn are currently fighting in the street. Frankly, warden, if this situation is not resolved, we face a civil war.”

She inhaled slowly, forced herself to see this man’s position. Civil war was something she and Ferelden faced, as well, and it was also proving to be a detriment to the preparations against the Blight. Couldn’t one Hood-forsaken thing be easy?

“Alright,” she said as calmly as she could muster, “and how would I prove that I have no intention of harming Harrowmont or his aims?’

“Bhelen is hosting a Proving today, supposedly to honor his father’s memory. The deshyrs take it very seriously, and unfortunately Bhelen found some way to blackmail or intimidate House Harrowmont’s best fighters into standing down.”

Elissa pretended that the words he used made sense to her, nodding along, though behind her, Sten spoke up, “Why would your Assembly care about the outcome of some fight?”

As if remembering he was not speaking to fellow dwarves for the first time, the man smacked his forehead, “Right, right. The Proving is a contest of the best warriors in Orzammar. By fighting - and winning - they show who has the ancestors’ favor. If you were to enter the Proving in Lord Harrowmont’s name, that would demonstrate your loyalty beyond any doubt.”

Elissa stared at him for a moment, pinched the bridge of her nose, “Right. Fine. How do I enter this Proving?”

“Excellent. The arena is located off the commons. You’ll need to speak to the proving master and tell him you’re joining Harrowmont’s roster.”

“Got it.”

“And while you’re there, if you could find Gwiddon and Baizyl - find out how Bhelen convinced them not to fight.”

“Sure thing.”

“See if you can change their minds.”

“Right.”

“You should be able to find them in fighter’s preparation chambers. Just…speak to them before the fight begins. After the first bout, no changes can be made to the roster.”

Elissa stood silently this time, waiting, one foot already toward the door, anxious to get this over with. It seemed he was done, so she started to shift her weight, to exit, but he caught her arm, “Oh! And if you need to find me again, I’ll be at Tapsters Tavern, on the Commons. No better place to hear gossip.”

She smiled, turned once more, and he added, “Maybe even hear of your victory?”

“You can count on that,” Alistair spoke behind her, and the man nodded.

This time Elissa was able to get to the doors and back out into the street, her group following behind as ever.

“Right then,” she sighed, “let me go beat up a bunch of locals, so that this Harrowmont fellow will speak to me. And then just hope that we’re able to get a Hood-damned map.”

* * *

To say that Alistair was displeased would have been an understatement, as he and the others of their party shuffled to the sidelines to watch Elissa stride into a massive fighting arena, from which they had just dragged an unconscious (Queen of Dreams, he hoped he was unconscious) fighter.

High above them, the dwarf who had taken Elissa’s name after she had talked the other two Dwarves into re-entering, stepped up to the edge of a platform and announced, his voice echoing through the stone cavern, “This is a glory proving! Fought under the paragons of Orzammar, in memory of our beloved king Endrin!”

A roaring cheer went up through the crowd, a roll of thunder in the compressed space that he could feel in his chest. Or perhaps that was just his heart hammering away, attempting to escape through his throat, as the announcer continued, “First up is Seweryn of the Warrior Caste. Many of you may remember when he made history at age twelve by defeating his father in this very ring.”

Hood take him, what had she gotten herself into?

“Today he fights as champion of the royal prince Bhelen against a member of the famed Order of the Grey!”

The cheering crescendoed, just as the fighter before Elissa spoke, voice gruff, “In the name of House Aeducan,” he shouted, then turned to the crowd, arms in the air, “and our future king Bhelen!”

Elissa only smiled, “You honor me with this fight.”

“First warrior to fall is vanquished! FIGHT!”

A blur of motion then, that Alistair watched like a man possessed, not wishing to see but unable to look away, as Seweryn pulled his axe and shield free, hoisting the latter onto arms that had to be the size of Elissa’s leg. Elissa who, of course, looked completely undisturbed by the situation. Elissa who unsheathed her sword and dagger and waited for her opponent to charge, which he did. She blocked his heavy axe swing, and the clash of metal was so loud, he felt it in his teeth.

“Hood’s balls on an anvil,” he muttered.

“She will take him in four swings,” Sten replied matter-of-factly.

Elissa meanwhile had taken her first swipe, her dagger slicing behind his shield at his arm, and Alistair winced at the thought of what that blow would feel like, were he on the receiving end. Seweryn winced and tugged his shield a bit tighter against himself.

Another bone-shaking parry, a riposte, and she backed away having landed no blows to her opponent. 

That was the third swing, Alistair counted, just as Elissa blended into the shadows. Seweryn blinked, staggered back, turned in a circle, his movements choppy. Elissa appeared behind him, lashed out with her sword pommel, and he fell face-first into the dirt.

Silence sat for what felt like a millennia before the crowd erupted. He could hear bookies calling out winners, people cheering loudly, some booing, as the same team that had dragged out the last fighter hoisted Seweryn to his feet and led him back into the fighters’ chambers.

“The winner is the Grey Warden!” the proving master bellowed from his perch high above, and the cheering continued to wash over Elissa below, who nodded solemnly to the crowd.

The knot in his gut loosened somewhat, but acid still burned in his throat. He wasn’t sure how many bouts there would be, but of course he knew it would be more than the one. He didn’t have long to wait before the next contenders appeared in the arena, two of them stepping out to more thunderous applause, and the announcer was more difficult to hear, as he shouted, “The Grey Warden will face the notorious duo, the Warrior Caste’s twin terrors, now fighting as champions for Prince Bhelen, Myaja and Lucjan!”

“May the stone honor you,” one of the twins, a female, shouted above the crowd.

“When you fall!” the male twin added, to laughter from the crowd.

Elissa smiled, “Are we going to bandy words back and forth, or are we going to fight?”

Wynne sighed on his right, “She should not have fallen to their bait. She’s better than that.”

Absolute faith in Elissa’s abilities warred with gut-tearing worry for her. He had no doubts about her fighting prowess; he had seen first hand how brutally efficient and beautifully lethal she could be. But he also had vivid memories of tattered skin barely hanging onto a mottled leg, whimpers of pain, as it mended. She was not, after all, immortal. But he dared not grimace or cover his face - if she were to look up and meet his eye, she would see nothing but pride and unshakable support. 

It was said that Dwarves were unable to access warrens or perform magic, but they made up for it with their alchemical solutions - their sappers were the best around, and while the female fighter armed herself with sword and shield, the male threw some sort of powder that let out a bright flash and a cracking sound that had Elissa staggering back for a moment.

Sten’s hand on his shoulder kept him firmly in his seat, as if he would jump to his feet and scramble down to her. He grit his teeth, but he had no intention of undermining her in such a way, and besides, as they knew she would, she soon regained the upper hand. 

Both Lucjan and Myaja had watched the previous bout, and they stood back-to-back to avoid being flanked by her, but Elissa was not going to use the same trick twice in a row. Instead she pressed the sapper hard, moving into his space and coming out of it with something in her hand. She tore the bag with her dagger swinging the dust that came out into the face of the one wielding the shield, and whatever was in the small satchel appeared to stun the woman. Elissa used the woman’s shield to knock her back and out before turning back and, with a feint and a lunge, disarming the man.

“The winner is the Grey Warden!” the announcer bellowed, walking back out to the returning cheers of the crowd.

Alistair took a deep breath, studying Elissa from his vantage point - she looked good. It was ridiculous to have her going back-to-back like this, but the bouts had been quick, and she didn’t seem to be expending herself overmuch. The break lasted a little longer this time, with a uniformed Dwarf approaching Elissa, sharing a conversation that could not be made out over the din of the crowd.

After a short rest and re-clearing of the arena, the proving master appeared above again, “The Grey Warden has won the field so far, but how will she do against one of the legendary Silent Sisters? We’ll find out, as the Warden faces Lady Hanashan, who proved her worth to Paragon Astyth the Grey by cutting out her own tongue!”

Whoever this woman was was clearly popular, as people in the arena stood, stomping their feet and shouting themselves hoarse. A dwarven woman had entered the arena, severe black markings on her face and short, dark cropped hair. 

“And to prince Bhelen, by fighting in his name.”

The woman bowed to Elissa, who returned the gesture, “Good luck to you.”

“First warrior to fall is vanquished - fight!”

Elissa’s opponent pulled a heavy, two-handed sword from her back and stood ready. No wonder they offered her a moment to breathe, Alistair thought, looking at the size of the sword. It would only take a few strikes to wear her out, so she would have to be quick and evasive.

He had no need to worry. She was fluid, as she sidestepped a heavy, overhanded swing meant to end the bout early. From the woman’s flank, she kicked out, hitting the woman’s knee. She fell to it, and Elissa struck simultaneously with her blades, both sword and dagger. It was the fastest fight yet, and the crowd seemed more confused than excited this time, when the announcer cried that the Grey Warden had won.

And the announcer wasted no further time, “This round is paired combat. Just as Kiotshett fought as King Bloadlikk’s second defending our empire, so have dwarves always fought alongside a second. Master of all weapons, prisoner of none, Wojech Ivo has never won the same way twice. What will he do today, lords and ladies, and will it win the day for prince Bhelen?”

Two stout, heavily armored Dwarves appeared through the door across from Elissa, both marching into the center, where they bowed.

“Grey Warden, choose your second, for you face Wojech Ivo and Velanz!”

Alistair perked up - she could choose a second? His eyes slid to his shield, resting on the low stone wall nearby, and he could practically feel Sten reaching for his spear. To his surprise and chagrin, she called neither of them to her side. He tried to ignore the sting of it, remembering that this was about impressing politicians, not doing what she actually wanted.

“I will fight with Harrowmont’s faithful warrior, Gwiddon.”

They had specifically sought Gwiddon and Baizyl for this purpose, he reminded himself, as the warrior who had been convinced that Harrowmont was not, in fact, stepping down, stepped into the ring, joining Elissa and thanking her for her trust.

“I’ve got Wojech,” she had shouted to Gwiddon, who she left to deal with Velanz, another sapper with tricks up his sleeve. 

Gwiddon shielded himself from the flash and bang of a lazily tossed vial before ramming hard into the man who had thrown it. Velanz stumbled back from the impact, passing by Elissa, as she ducked under a swing from Wojech. As she moved, she kicked back, sending her secondary opponent sprawling. Gwiddon circled around the remaining fighter, and they lunged at once, dropping him to the ground.

The crowd now was very nearly feral in their fervor, shouting and stomping. The fights were short, fast, and for Alistair they were certainly keeping him on the edge of his seat.

Wojech and Velanz were taken out of the arena. Gwiddon stayed behind with Elissa, and as the Proving Master consulted a tablet above them, Baizyl entered, walking up to the warden and his fellow Dwarf to greet them. Baizyl, the naughty cousin of Lord Harrowmont who had been conducting a secret affair with an Aeducan woman. It would be romantic except for the details of the whole thing and the fact that he and Gwiddon would be supporting Elissa instead of Alistair joining her.

“Only two warriors remain!” came the rumbling voice of the Proving Master, snapping Alistair’s attention back to the arena - the last fight then.

“Fighting for his royal cousin Bhelen, Piotin Aeducan has led his team to triumph over every unit so far. Challenging him, the Grey Warden came from nowhere, cutting a swath through Orzammar’s finest warriors. Each will lead a unit of soldiers to see once and for all who the ancestors favor.”

The crowd rose into a frenzy of whooping and jeering, stomping, fists raised, and Alistair worried that perhaps the chamber itself would crumble around them. A three man unit stepped into the ring, led by a man in shining armor with a shield and sword who was flanked by red-armored warriors, one with a great hammer strapped to his back and the other with the frenzied look of a sapper.

“You fight well. It will be a pleasure seeing you fall,” Piotin called out from the arena, and the crowd cheered once more.

When the sound had died down, Elissa bowed, “The pleasure is all mine.”

The Proving Master’s shout of _FIGHT_ was easy to miss amidst the echoing cries of the audience, but the fight began no less. 

Both Baizyl and Gwiddon carried shield and sword, and Alistair worried about the lack of a heavy weapon among them.

Sten grunted, “I would like to try my hand with that hammer.”

Wynne shook her head, “That one will be too slow to even get close to Elissa. She’s like a dancer out there.”

Alistair felt his cheeks flame red, unsure if he should agree aloud, though he did wholeheartedly. Hood take him, but she was breathtaking when she fought. At the very least it helped distract him from the danger she was in.

“We should get one of those sappers to join us,” Sten continued, pointing at the man in the arena who had just used a sort of smokescreen to distract Gwiddon.

“Piotin is clearly capable,” Wynne muttered, shifting forward in her seat.

It was true. The man was giving Elissa a run for her money. She was moving around him in a circle, but every feint was ignored and most of her attacks parried. Further past her, the sapper went down, and Gwiddon moved to assist Baizyl with the heavy.

The heavy went down.

Elissa rushed at Piotin, who grinned and widened his stance. His shield came up to block a blow that never came. Instead Alistair watched with growing awe - and perhaps just a smidgen of arousal - as she leapt, planted her foot against the solid wall provided by the Dwarf, and spun into the air. She sailed over the confused, stumbling man, twisting in the air to land gently on the balls of her feet before striking with her blades in a sweeping fashion. They caught the Dwarf’s legs, and he wobbled unsteadily for a moment before crashing to the ground.

Silence for a moment, as if the air had been sucked out of the room, and then thunder once more.

“The winner is the Grey Warden! Congratulations! You defeated the man Prince Trian himself once called ‘the horns of my army’.”

Elissa, still taking in deep breaths bowed before the crowd.

“Do any deny that this Grey Warden has earned the championship?”

The crowd continued to cheer, but whatever he had asked for seemed to go unanswered, since he continued, “Then it is my honor to declare the Grey Warden champion of the Proving, who has shown that the ancestors favor Lord Harrowmont!”

From behind the Proving Master, horns sounded, and Elissa spun in a circle, bowing graciously to the crowd.

Pride filled him. She had done it, and she was amazing, and here she was arriving in a nation falling apart and helping to put it back together. A strange thought occurred to him, then, that Elissa would make a fine queen, but he bit that back harshly. He had no desire to be king, and what if…even if he did…it didn’t mean…

His stuttering thoughts were interrupted by Sten’s hand clapping him on the shoulder, “We should go congratulate her!”

Alistair nodded dumbly and followed after Sten and Wynne, calling Rood to his side, back down to the fighters’ chambers. Elissa walked through the doors from the arena just as they arrived, and his knees felt suddenly like jelly. He offered to go speak with the Proving Master, while Sten and Wynne spoke to her, afraid of what he might do in the moment. Besides a crowd was swiftly surrounding her, and she would be busy.

He could wait. 

There was seemingly no end to the number of people wishing to praise her, to thank her, to ask her to fight again, but eventually the line trickled down, and her searching eyes found his. He nodded to her slightly, indicating a hallway that he had spotted with no one within. She smiled, slow and knowing, and he had to turn and walk away lest his armor become uncomfortable.

He had another short wait, but soon enough she practically materialized by his side, and he wasted no time. He was not hesitant or slow, as he had been the night prior. He wrapped his hand around her hip, thrilled at the feel of it in his palm, tugged her roughly toward him, and pressed his lips against hers with the urgency he’d been feeling since the fighting had started.

And Queen of Dreams did she respond. Perhaps it was leftover battle lust, but her lips moved fervently against his own, and by the time he pulled away, he was a panting mess.

“You were brilliant,” he murmured, kissing her again, more subdued now that the pent up energy between them had been provided an outlet.

She grinned at him, just this side of cocky, “Thanks.”

He took a deep, steadying breath and let go of her hip, shaking his head slightly with a grin that he couldn’t erase.

She mirrored his inhale, then nodded resolutely, “Alright. So I beat up a bunch of dwarves. Maybe now Lord Harrowmont will see us, and I can get us a Hood-damned map.”

* * *

Tapster’s Tavern was about what Leliana expected of a dwarven drinking hole. Orzammar was well known for its strong spirits and strong beer, and the smell lingered even outside of the doors.

The interior was rowdy, crowded and loud with the boisterous recounting of the Proving from which her companions were themselves returning. Upon Elissa’s appearance in the tavern, a combination of cheers and jeers went up, heralding her entrance for any who may have been waiting, including Lord Harrowmont’s representative, Dulin, who she had kept in sight in the back of the place. She motioned to him, and Elissa nodded.

Their party had to wind through the crowd, stopping and turning and twisting around patrons as if in a maze, and Leliana was sorely tempted to reach out with nimble fingers and see what may happen to land in her palm. But she didn’t dare put their budding reputation at risk and kept her hands to herself.

Dulin greeted them with a loud bark of laughter, “If it isn’t the hero of the hour! You did fine work in the Provings today, and Harrowmont is very eager to meet with you.”

Elissa smiled and bowed graciously, “Wonderful. Then we’d better not keep him waiting, eh?”

In an impressive demonstration of drinking prowess, Dulin upended his nearly full mug, downing the beverage in a matter of seconds before slamming it back on the table and gesturing, “Then let’s make our way to the Diamond Quarter!”

It felt a bit anti-climactic, to have heard about how Elissa downed all of those foes in the arena, to now only be walking mundanely through a market. They returned to the upscale Diamond Quarter and approached a large entryway carved into the wall. It was not as large as the Assembly hall, but it was certainly owned by a noble, a fact reinforced by the finery on display when they first entered. Despite its size, she bid Shale remain outside.

It was a straight path from the door to the study, where an older dwarf stood with his back to them, arms clasped behind him, standing with an easy confidence.

“My lord, I present Elissa Cousland. Grey Warden and recent champion of the Proving.”

“I appreciate what you have done, Warden, and I apologize for putting one of your rank through such trials.”

He turned then to face them, and his face further identified him as a man with years to back up his steady demeanor.

“I am Lord Pyral Harrowmont, and I thank you for your efforts to help me preserve King Endrin’s throne.”

Perhaps Elissa was less interested, but Leliana’s curiosity was burning her from the inside out, “Why would King Endrin choose you over his own son?”

Harrowmont glanced at her, sighed, “You may not know the story, but Bhelen is actually the youngest of three. Endrin’s eldest, Trian, was murdered in the Deep Roads not a year ago. His middle son was found standing over the body and was exiled, but I’ve always found it suspicious that Bhelen knew _just_ where to look. Endrin loved his sons too much to voice such suspicions, but he knew Bhelen’s only interest in ruling was to further his own power.”

“For myself, I have never sought the throne. My role was to serve Endrin, first as his advisor, then as an elected deshyr in the Assembly. A Harrowmont has never been king, and I always assumed Trian would rule after his father. But both Endrin and my colleagues have asked me to step up, and I will not back down when Orzammar needs me.”

“So does the Assembly have the true power then?” Elissa spoke carefully.

“The Assembly represents the voices of the wisest, most noble families. While we need a single king to preside over important functions and lead us in battle, the Assembly better represents all in Orzammar.”

Elissa rubbed her forehead, one hand on her hip, “Understood. But I came to you because I need a writ to retrieve a map of the Deep Roads from the Shaperate. My colleagues and I believe there is a Gate that has opened, or has been open for some time, that we need to close in order to fight the Blight.”

Harrowmont grew still for a moment, hand sliding over his beard, “Do you know anything of the paragon Branka?”

Elissa waved her hand vaguely, “I’ve heard the name.”

“Branka is the only paragon we have been blessed with in four generations now. And two years ago, she took her entire clan with her in the Deep Roads to ‘uncover ancient secrets.’ No one has heard from her since.”

Elissa shifted her weight subtly, “That’s, er, unfortunate.”

“Perhaps not. Were she to return and speak to the Assembly on behalf of a candidate, the Assembly would be honor bound to accept her wishes,” he offered with a shrug.

“Ok,” Elissa ran a hand over the top of her head, ”What if she’s dead?”

It was the obvious question, and Leliana was relieved that it did not offend the noble, “Then even finding her clan would show that the ancestors guided my hand in bringing back news of her.”

“So you’ll give me a map, if I promise to look for this paragon?”

In answer Harrowmont turned back to his desk and produced a rolled parchment - old, but still in good shape, “That’s correct. Though the map is yours regardless - you fought for me in the Proving. However when you return, with Branka or with news of her, I will be king, and the Assembly will hear your request for our sappers.”

Elissa held out her hand, and the dwarf slapped the parchment into it.

“I don’t just need support against the Blight. I mean to invoke the Reve with your warriors.”

Harrowmont shrugged, potentially unimpressed or unconcerned, “Ultimately the Assembly decides what troops to send. If they no longer fear civil war, they’ll have no reason to hold back. If you want my support, I will have to be king, and to be king I’ll need something from Branka.”

They were one step closer, Leliana had to remind herself, though it still felt so far away. Below them, still distant but not nearly as far as it had felt before, she could sense the gate pulsing. They had much to do, yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scabandari Bloodeye: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Scara_Bandaris


	25. Entering the Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa's crew, with Lord Harrowmont's map, venture forth into the Deep Roads, hoping to find the distant gate sensed by the mages, some sign of the Paragon Branka, and ultimately a way to invoke the Reve in order to recruit some of Orzammar's sappers. No pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters...anyway. They are done. A couple of times in some instances...

It seemed ill advised to Wynne that the entrance to the Deep Roads, guarded at all times by a special guard, would be so close to the most affluent neighborhood. Not because the richer nobility should have more protection by default but because the people of Orzammar as a whole would lose a vast amount of their wealth if the small unit of guards they were approaching were to fail.

Her consideration was cut short, when a leather-clad, red-haired dwarf stepped into their path, swaying for just a moment before practically shouting at Elissa, “Excuse me stranger, have you seen a Grey Warden about?”

Elissa stopped and glanced at their companions.

The dwarf was still speaking, adjusting his armor slightly, “I heard he…or maybe it was a she? Was going into the Deep Roads to search out Branka on Lord Harrowmont’s command.”

“What does this Grey Warden look like?” Elissa asked, looking for all the world as if she were seriously considering his question.

“Stout and muscular, fair of face, but with a strong jaw and nose…or if she’s a woman, more slight, but the eyes will shine with the light of purity, and her large but chaste bosom will heave gloriously.”

It didn’t escape Wynne’s notice that Alistair’s ears were going red at the description, while his eyes flicked to the body parts mentioned. Because he agreed that it fit Elissa or because he was unhappy with the dwarf mentioning her bosom, she wasn’t sure, but it was, in a word, precious.

“I’ve been looking for hours but haven’t found anyone who looks like that. Very frustrating,” the dwarf finished with a grunt.

Elissa put a finger to her chin, shook her head, “None of the Wardens I know look like that. Alistair? Ring any bells?”

There was a stretch of silence, this half inebriated dwarf staring mistrustingly at Elissa before barking, “Seriously? _You’re_ the Warden? Their standards must have fallen…but I guess that would account for a human being in Orzammar.”

He scratched his beard, still studying Elissa, “Say. Could I ask you a favor?”

"That’s how you butter someone up to ask them for help?” Elissa pointed out, somewhat incredulous.

As amusing as it was, Wynne hoped they would wrap it up soon. This man was drunk as well as rude, and there was nothing he had offered them so far.

“The name’s Oghren, and if you’ve ever heard of me before, it’s probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong,” he said with a hint of pride. Wynne frowned.

His face fell slightly, “And that’s mostly true, but what they never say is I’m the only one who still keeps looking for our only living Paragon. I’m the only one who knows what she was looking for too, which might be pretty sodding helpful.”

His mention of the paragon appeared to give Elissa pause. The Shield Anvil took a deep breath, “Cut to the chase. You can come if your info’s good.”

Oghren nodded conspiratorially, “You should know that Branka was looking for the Anvil of the Void, something that she believed was the secret to closing gates, defeating Darkspawn, which was lost centuries ago. Smith Caridin supposedly forged it…in the old Ortan Thaig, past Caridin’s Cross.”

“Ok, great,” Elissa beamed, “then we’ll head that way.”

“Wait!” he barked, jogging to catch up to them, breaths heaving even with the short distance, “take me with you. I can help you navigate, and besides, I’m a hell of a sapper.”

At that Elissa stopped walking, pinched the bridge of her nose, “Assuming I let you come, Oghren, would I have your word, no more insults?”

The dwarf grumbled for a moment, “I didn’t mean to…I was just…sodding Worm. Fine! Fine, I swear to be on my best and most proper behavior.”

“Well you sound sincere enough,” Elissa threw back flatly, and the dwarf practically beamed, clearly too inebriated to catch the sarcasm dripping from her words. Or perhaps just a fan of it. Elissa had that sort of charm, that dry wit that put people at ease.

But Wynne knew that Elissa was, at the end of the day, a kind-hearted person. It was why Fener would have chosen her for Sheild Anvil - she was strong, unyielding in the face of her foes, but where she saw pain, she sought to make things right. And the man before them was clearly in pain. 

Elissa motioned to their group with her chin, and Oghren eagerly shouldered a pack that he had stowed nearby and fell in line, “Everyone, Oghren. Oghren…everyone.”

And then they were moving forward again. It turned out allowing the sapper to join them was already a benefit, as he argued his way past the guards at the entrance to the Deep Roads - “Anyone else going after our only living Paragon? I didn’t think so!”

Thus their journey began. Wynne was less attuned to other magics than Leliana or Morrigan, that was certain, but even she could feel the strong pull of a warren coming from somewhere. She marvelled again at the fact that dwarves had no magical prowess, but then it was probably a mercy. Too much exposure for too long, she felt certain she’d come out of this with at least a headache, if not something worse. A bit late for regrets, she reminded herself, as they walked through a dark opening and began their descent into the Deep Roads.

* * *

To call the underground roadways known as the Deep Roads warm would have been an understatement. Lit with the burning flow of magma, it was oppressive, and even with the super heated substance casting a warm orange glow about them, it was dark enough to require extra lighting, provided by torches, which in turn gave off heat.

“Wasn’t always like this,” Oghren muttered, his voice echoing in the stone caverns where they walked, “used to be the roads was cool and comfortable.”

“When did they get warm like this?” Leliana was peering at the thick, sluggish magma nearby with a deep frown.

“Can’t rightly say, but if I had to make a guess, around the time Branka and I got married.”

“So not all that long ago?”

“And not everywhere. Only in some spots. I’ve been to thaigs that were more like Orzammar. This is sodding uncomfortable, you ask me.”

Leliana asked nothing further but made a sort of concerned sniffing sound. 

Alistair wished, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, that he could know what she was thinking. He trusted Leliana enough, he supposed; she was loyal to Elissa, he knew. He had heard her describing some sort of elaborate shoes that she had once seen in Orlais to the Shield Anvil once before, and he didn’t think that level of detail would be shared with someone the mage didn’t care for. Or even stories of Orlais at all, come to think of it. But at the same time, she was some strange mix of rogue and mage. He suspected she could pickpocket her way through Denerim, assassinate a noble or two, create another stone creature, and come out looking like a damned hero. 

He was mostly glad she was on their side, even though he suspected that she knew more than she let on at times.

He was not so glad that she had shared the knowledge about the gate in the Deep Roads. That wasn’t fair; her sharing it made her trustworthy, but if she hadn’t mentioned it, perhaps they wouldn’t be here now. He didn’t like it down here - it was oppressive, darkness and cloying heat converging together to make him feel something just this side of panic.

When they found an obstruction in the main path, a place where a boulder had fallen, perhaps, and taken out a chunk of the well-worn road, the panic rose. 

“There are tunnels here,” Sten called from one side of the cavern, “look travelled.”

As a cover for the sense of foreboding he felt, he stepped closer to Elissa as if to peer over her shoulder at the worn map she had received from Harrowmont. According to the piece of parchment in her hands, this road had been clear once upon a time, and there was no indication of the tunnels. He frowned, fingers twitching at his side with the desire to snatch the map out of her hands, to end this fool’s errand, turn back. It couldn’t be helped if there was no way forward.

“Here, Warden, use this one,” Oghren muttered, pushing past him to shove a newer parchment into her hands.

A cursory glance confirmed that this newer version did in fact have the tunnels, so either Harrowmont had no better resources, or he was less than concerned with them getting back safely. He hoped the former. It didn’t make sense for him to send them to their deaths; he needed this Paragon’s support, after all.

Elissa followed the tunnel path on the map with her finger, “Seems like it about doubles the distance, but it avoids this collapse. I don’t see another option,” she sighed, closing the map, then, “Mind if I keep hold of this?”

“Be my guest.”

She nodded and then looked over her shoulder, noticing Alistair there now, and she offered him a smile. He studied her features. She wasn’t terribly pleased with this turn of events, either, but the same steady resolve that he had come to expect from her in any situation was still there. He wanted to kiss her again. Of course, he had _been_ wanting to for what felt like ages, but now he actually _had_, and it was almost all he could think about, at least right now, so close to her in the perhaps not-so-miserable heat and the not-so-oppressive dark. After all, one could get away with a lot more in the dark.

Oh, but he was staring, wasn’t he? And by the cheerful, somewhat teasing glint in Elissa’s eye, he had been caught, his thoughts probably written all over his face.

He stepped away, nodded, “That map is much better. It’s a good choice.”

And feeling the eyes of the others upon him, he turned and marched right toward the tunnel. 

* * *

Shale didn’t find their situation all that uncomfortable, but it was learning quickly since it came into being on the shores of a lake, and it understood that its squishier counterparts were more sensitive to things like air temperature. It didn’t think it would be a good idea for it to jump into the liquid rock on either side of them, but as far as ambient temperature went, it had no complaints.

Overall Shale liked this place. The Deep Roads felt like something the humans would call ‘home,’ though it was a concept it didn’t quite understand. Not fully. Not in the way that a human would. 

Leliana said that it had a soul, and it was starting to understand that that meant feeling things like _home_. And dislike - it found that it disliked birds, especially - foul creatures, the lot of them, and in this place there were no birds, so no wonder it liked the Deep Roads. Bird free. Quiet. Comfortable.

It liked Leliana. It liked Elissa, the one who the others followed. It wasn’t sure about the new squishy creature with the red hair and red beard. It smelled, but oh wasn’t that a new experience? Smell. All sorts of smells out there, and all with different names: sweet, sour, sharp.

It liked the feeling of magic. When Leliana or Morrigan especially opened their warrens, it felt stronger, bolstered somehow, fed. At least that was what it thought it felt. Feelings were a new concept. When it was just stone and dirt, it did not know feelings. It knew pressure, wet, dry, light, and dark. 

Perhaps it liked the Deep Roads because of the magic. There was magic here, it knew, rumbling up from beneath them but getting closer. It was strange, like magic that was trying to be something else. Shale didn’t know if the magic or the Other magic would be what filled it up when they approached. But something told it that it was made for this purpose.

Yes. Yes this was what coming home felt like.

* * *

It was bound to happen sooner or later.

Two days into the Deep Roads they encountered the first Darkspawn. It was a relatively small party, and their own group dispatched of them quickly. They were different, bigger than any of them were used to, and faster, though in the aftermath of the fight, Elissa inspected them and discovered that they were very likely blind.

“Do they come from the Deep Roads?” Wynne asked.

Oghren prodded one of them with his foot and shrugged, “We have them more than you lot. It’s why no one has been trippin’ over themselves to send aid up to ya.”

Elissa frowned at him, “How often do they appear?”

He tried to think, but he was deep into his cups, as he normally was, the only way to dull the rage and the hurt at having been left behind in the first place. It made remembering things hard, especially if they were unpleasant things like the last time he encountered Darkspawn. Which he supposed was a few minutes ago.

“Probably, er, once in a while, anyway. But more. Definitely more.”

He ignored the older lady who rolled her eyes at him. What in Hood’s name did she want from him anyway? He wasn’t in the Legion; he was a sapper, and the only nug he had in this fight was that his wife had come down here looking for some Hood-damned legend and hadn’t come back. Oh, and she had left him, and only him, in Orzammar, where he could be looked on with pity, while he drowned his memories.

He just wanted to find Branka.

And he wanted to forget everything else.

But Elissa, the Warden, she was patient and kind, and she slapped his shoulder, “Suppose it’s like anything else, right? You see it enough, who bothers keeping track?”

He huffed a laugh. It was true enough. And in truth it mattered little to what they were doing now. Still…

“I suppose there’s theories. The Lyrium, you know, makes it easy to access Warrens. The veil, as they say, is thin. We get a lot of gates. Gimme that torch,” he made a grabbing motion with his hand until the other Warden, Alistair, handed him the torch.

He held it up to the wall, feeling along it with his fingertips until the rough stone became smooth metal, and he tilted the torch until it became clear, “See here?”

The others approached, Elissa leaning in to touch the wall, “What…? How?”

“There used to be someone else down here, we reckon. Before the Dwarves, or maybe at the same time, I dunno about such things.”

“Is this metal the only indication?”

“Well there are the carvings.”

“Carvings?”

Oghren nodded, held up the torch to get his bearings; likely they were nearing Caridin’s Cross by now, “I’ll show you when we get to them.”

The other red-head in the group approached, and he watched her with some level of suspicion. Dwarves didn’t have mages, and he had a healthy fear of anyone who could blow up something without Lyrium or other such alchemicals. Besides which he had heard her talking in her sleep, and not the mumbling kind of nonsense of most folks, but an actual conversation, where she paused as if listening to the other person.

Something wasn’t right with her, and when she set her hand against the metal, he was certain she was doing something unnatural, so he backed away.

There wasn’t much more metal in the tunnel; he suspected there wouldn’t be, but he didn’t want to talk about it much anyway. They needed to be on guard for other things. Darkspawn, sure, but also the spiders - massive, some of them poisonous. Maybe even worse than the spiders were their webs, with their thick, sticky ropes, just waiting to trap an unsuspecting warrior.

And it was a good thing he was being vigilant; Leliana, still babbling theories about why metal might in deep caverns, nearly walked into one. Oghren grabbed her by the back of her tunic before she could hit the web, and at her hissed reprimand, he tilted his torch, so she would see it.

“Back up, you sodding dusters,” he grumbled, reaching into his pack to pull out one of his secret weapons.

The webs were sticky, but acid would eat through them just as surely as the spiders would eat whatever stuck to them.

He used a dagger to cut a small slit into the clay ball he had retrieved, “Careful. No one breathe in for a minute.”

He studied the web, ran his blade through one more time until he was satisfied, then backed away a couple of steps, pushing back the others, as well. He tossed the clay ball out, wrist twisting to throw it as if skipping a rock. It sailed smoothly through the air, spinning, rather than rolling, the acid within staying tucked inside the clay until, with a soft sort of thrumming sound, it hit the web.

The clay was cut through partially, despite it sticking, loosing the acid, which started to fizzle and pop and eat away at the fine strands of the trap.

“Well I’ll be,” Elissa muttered behind him, watching the spectacle, “I’d love to learn how to do that.”

Oghren only barked a laugh. It had taken him years and years of training, and he still thought he was better with the sodding lot of his sapper tools when he first started, when he had the wild gleam in his eye that came from being young and believing himself immortal. He knew better now, understood what real hurt was. It had made him cautious. And that wasn’t a great trait in a good sapper.

“Careful, now, lass. The spiders down here would see you as a mighty fine snack, with the rest of us serving well enough for dinner.”

“Noted.”

He didn’t mind the warden, really. She was calm - not crazy, always going on about things long dead, like Branka had been. And she didn’t waste a lot of words like a lot of others he had come to know in his life. Hell, Elissa was nothing like him, and that alone made her a good companion, he knew.

They had been in the side tunnel for probably close to a day now, and his counterparts, unused to this kind of travel, were slowing down. 

“I think there’s a sort of tucked away tunnel around here. We could settle in for a while, let everyone rest up,” he offered.

Elissa glanced over her shoulder and nodded, “Good idea. Get us there, and I’ll announce the stop.”

She listened to him, too. Well, he mused, she couldn’t be perfect.

* * *

Somehow the dark of the tunnels did not lend themselves to sleep. Leliana found herself just staring at a dark grey wall that was perhaps somewhat lighter than the other dark grey walls, for being near their meager fire. She knew she needed sleep. She could hear Oghren snoring on the other side of the fire; perhaps that was keeping her up, in fact. Sten was propped up against another wall, chin on his chest, as he dozed. Wynne was wrapped in a thick blanket, the soft and steady rise and fall of her shoulder indicating that she slept.

Elissa and Alistair were suspiciously missing. She arched a brow at that. 

Surely they did not think themselves clever? Alistair’s appreciative gaze had moved onto adoring soon after Redcliffe, when Elissa had agreed to free Isolde and Connor from the grip of the Crippled God’s rising house. 

Elissa, for her part, was a bit harder to read, if only because Leliana had heard her flirting with the assassin before. And because while she smiled fondly at Alistair, she hadn’t been sure if there were romantic intentions there or simply camaraderie. 

Curiosity seized her, and she had to know. Perhaps she was simply reading into things. If the Shield Anvil did not share those feelings, no doubt Alistair would not push the matter. Such a silly thing to worry about, she knew, but like Wynne, she found herself living vicariously through the somewhat timid love affair.

She sat up slowly, allowing her eyes to adjust before standing. She kept the wall to the her right, fingers moving along its surface, so she could simply turn back, should she get lost. Away from the fire, it was of course darker, but after close to a dozen or so yards, a strange glow appeared ahead. If she hadn’t been curious before, now she certainly had to find answers. There was no pulse of magic, so the source had to be organic.

Continuing on, there was a clear widening of the narrow path she had followed, and a dead end. The ceiling sparkled with iridescent blue, the product of deep mushrooms growing along the walls and above the cavern.

And of course inside the cavern were their erstwhile wardens.

She should walk away, she knew. But something kept her held to the spot, just for a moment. Just to appreciate the tender way that Alistair’s hands framed Elissa’s face, her head bent back, and him leaning over her. It was clear they had been kissing for some time, given the state of their lips. She smiled to see them so, eyes closed, lost in some tender yet clearly heated moment.

Not wishing to be a voyeur, or at least any more than she was, she backed away slowly before turning and following the wall back.

When she arrived, Wynne had turned, and the fire danced in her eyes, “So?”

“Oh yes,” Leliana nodded.

The other mage smiled and turned back onto her side to sleep once more.

* * *

Caridin’s Cross turned out to be nothing more than a crossroads, though a grand one. They emerged from the darkness of the tunnels back onto the great underground road that would have once connected the Ortan Thaig, their destination, to Orzammar. Lava and lanterns once more lit the path, accompanied by the dizzying heat, casting the rich stone in warm colors. It shone like gold, and along the walls were carvings - brilliant and detailed.

Elissa stood at the base of one, looking up and taking a few steps back to try to take in its full scope. It was massive. It was beautiful. It was brutal.

She gazed upon war, and she felt Fener stir. Creatures she did not recognize towered above, pitched in battles that she had never heard of. She imagined they were stylized in some way, or at least she hoped. Some of them looked like strange, giant lizards, and those she could almost accept, like small dragons with no wings.

But the others…tall, thin, with limbs just a bit too long and _hinged_, as if they had extra joints. Even their chests looked to be able to fold in on themselves in what would surely be lethal for a human. Their faces were dreadful to look upon, with mouths like slashes across otherwise featureless visages, eyes that, even in the carving, looked menacing. Judging her from a long-forgotten past.

She shuddered and pried her eyes away.

“Oghren,” she managed to croak, “were these the carvings you mentioned?”

“Aye,” he muttered, eying one of them with a hint of his own distaste.

“They are hideous,” Wynne offered from further down the avenue.

“Does your Shaperate contain any memories of this?” Leliana inquired, stepping closer to one and reaching out to trace the carving.

Elissa bit back the sudden urge to slap the woman’s hand from the carving. She needn’t have bothered anyway; Leliana pulled back her hand as if burned, though her face did not twist in pain, so much as thoughtfulness.

“The metal of course, that you see in thaigs, is documented. But these…no one now knows how they got here or when,” Oghren huffed.

“And how far down do they go?”

Oghren shrugged, “The Ortan Thaig has been lost for generations, warden, so we don’t send scholars even this far; Caridin’s Cross was only ever meant to be a place between Ortan and Orzammar. I know as much about these carvings as you. Let’s keep moving.”

Elissa, and it seemed the whole party, agreed. There were whispers in the halls, tales of woe that reached for her, reached for their release, but she understood that Fener would not accept these. Whatever the creatures in the carvings were, they were something else. Something greater. Something to be feared.

She wondered what they would find in the thaig.

* * *

Darkspawn were on their heels. Elissa and the dwarf, Oghren, were at the front of the column, keeping the way ahead clear. Sten, along with Alistair and Shale, made up the rear, a solid shield wall to keep back the creatures attempting to swarm from behind.

“Down!” came Leliana’s heavily accented cry.

There was no down to speak of, so both he and Alistair threw themselves against the cool stone walls, while Shale lumbered further toward their company. A rolling wave of rock rippled along the ground where he had just been standing. He heard Alistair groan something that may have been “I’m going to be sick,” and then it had passed.

The Darkspawn had been thrown or crushed in the wave, but there were more behind, he knew.

Sten did not fear battle. But it had been a running fight since soon after seeing the carvings in Caridin’s Cross. No one had asked, so he did not explain to them the war between the K’Chain Che’Malle and the Forkrul Assail. He had no desire to speak of them; the Assail most especially, who wove magic in words. It was probably paranoid, but he feared speaking of them would see them crawling out of those carvings, and he had no wish to see such a thing, even in his own mind.

At first the Darkspawn had therefore been a distraction. Even a welcome one.

Now, sweat-slicked and breathing hard, he could feel his muscles twitching. He was slowing down. Alistair was, as well. They could not keep this up.

And then it just stopped. 

The air felt different from one instant to the next, and he chanced a turn. They were out of the tunnel and now in a vast chamber, massive in scope, with small stone buildings rising from a slate grey floor made of precise square stones that were polished and smooth as metal. 

“Ortan Thaig,” he heard their newest companion marvel.

The Darkspawn seemed unwilling to approach, both a relief and worry to him, but he would take the rest, at least.

The dwarf chuckled, pointed at the wall, “Look at that. There are chips at even intervals. Branka at least came through here.”

Sten wondered about this Branka woman, who launched an expedition for some legend into Darkspawn-infested tunnels in uncharted areas. Suicide mission, maybe? Or just obsessed? He wasn’t sure what it took to become a Paragon, but if it was granted for tremendous acts of ill-conceived bravery, then he assumed she met the mark.

Ignoring for the moment that the foulest creatures they had encountered underground seemed unwilling to enter this place, it was impressive, the stone structures within stretching toward the ceiling, grand doorways that led to no doubt grand interiors. Unfortunate that all of the doors were locked.

The symmetry and careful precision of everything spoke volumes of the people who built this place. It felt otherworldly, despite being in the bowels of the very world that they were in. It was at the very least free of the carvings of Forkrul Assail staring at them.

And a camp had been made here, or at least nearby, if Oghren’s assumptions were correct. He and the others didn’t stray far from one another, but they did wander, and he circled one of the carved houses - he assumed they were houses, but really he didn’t know. A skittering noise pulled his attention to a dark hole in the side of one of the high walls.

He whistled to get Elissa’s attention, pulling her away from a close conversation with Oghren. She approached, sweeping the area around him with a generous, approving nod, “Enjoying the architecture?”

He huffed a laugh, then nodded toward the hole, “Heard something.”

Elissa slipped away before his eyes, and the Warden replaced her, turning to the tunnel, “Darkspawn? It looked like they weren’t coming near this place.”

“Didn’t see what made the noise,” he offered.

“Shall we?” she wagged her eyebrows, and he felt the familiar tingle of shadow just before she slipped into the shaded opening of the opening he had spotted.

He followed after her, the two of them making their way down a narrow, rough-hewn tunnel, following the faint sounds of scraping against the floor. Someone was walking ahead of them, or more accurately shuffling along. Whoever they were, they hadn’t noticed himself or the warden. Or if they had, they were unconcerned.

The tunnel was short and opened into a slightly wider dead-end that had the clear signs of a camp. A small fire was lit in an old fire pit, and detritus lined the walls of the place. Also within, by the fire, was a dwarf, bent over at something of an angle, muttering to itself. 

“Ruck found the treasures. These are Ruck’s treasures.”

Elissa cleared the shadows from within the tunnel and made noise to warn of their approach before she walked into the open area. The dwarf man stared at her for just a second, then made a sort of hissing sound, “No! No you can’t have Ruck’s treasures!”

Elissa held up her hands, “I’m not here for Ruck’s treasures.”

Sten had confidence in her, but he didn’t trust crazy; he kept himself wrapped in shadows and out-of-sight, silent backup in case something should turn sour. 

Ruck blinked at her, and his face brightened, “Pretty lady is not here for Ruck’s treasures?”

The warden shook her head slowly, “No. I am looking for a dwarf named Branka, not treasures.” 

When he said nothing, she indicated to the remains of the camp, “Were there others here, Ruck?”

He nodded, head wobbling unsteadily and arms pulling in close, as if to hug himself, “Others. They left trash. Things to burn. Things to eat.”

“Did you burn everything they left? Or eat it?”

Ruck shook his head shyly, then waved out the way they had come, “The others left more out there, out where it’s not safe, where the dark ones don’t mind going.”

Elissa looked up at Sten, and he nodded that he understood.

“Thank you, Ruck. Do you need anything?”

Rusk smiled at her, a lopsided thing that was adoring but simultaneously innocent. He shook his head shyly, “No, pretty lady.”

She nodded, started to walk away, then turned, “Ruck, can we take you back? To Orzammar?”

His face twisted, and he shook his head more violently, “No! Ruck cannot go back. Ruck can never go back. Let Ruck stay. Stay here.”

She frowned, “Very well, Ruck.”

Sten nodded toward the tunnel. She sighed, said her goodbyes to Ruck, and led them back through to the main area of the thaig. They said nothing to one another, as they walked. They were in the main chamber before Elissa said anything further, and then it was to Oghren.

“It seems they camped here but moved on.”

The dwarf’s face fell into a deep frown, “So long as they didn’t go to the Dead Trenches, should be ok.”

“Sounds ominous. We think there will be a camp just on the other side of this…city? And we will hope to find something more useful.”

With nothing further of interest in the strange pocket of solitude, they ventured into the caves once more. The camp, as Ruck had said, we just beyond a bend after exiting the city, and it was largely intact.

“Oghren - take a look at this,” Alistair held up a large, leather-bound tome, “looks to have some handwriting.”

The dwarf wandered over, his eyes bulging, “It’s Branka’s journal! Let’s see that.”

“She wanted to cover her tracks,” Elissa pointed out, looking at the charred remains of other documents, shaking her head, “but why? Were there others after this stuff? And if so, why leave the journal intact?”

Oghren shook his head, clearly getting a little shaken by whatever was going on in his head, “I didn’t think so. Branka seemed to be the only one who cared enough or even believed that this anvil existed. But I suppose I never really paid much attention to that when she was around.”

Elissa frowned, and Sten understood her frustration. Oghren had some insights, true enough, but he was more a man hoping to repair what was clearly a struggling marriage than someone who had all the answers. And he wasn’t a scholar, as he had pointed out already, but instead a warrior. Still she wouldn’t have turned him away.

“Alright, well, they were clearly here. Anything stick out to you?”

He held up one of the charred scraps of parchment, “Not much left to it, but she was taking whatever they found deeper in. I don’t understand why she’d burn her notes. She was always…she didn’t like people touching them. Cared for them better than I care for my weapons.”

“Oghren,” the warden started again, looking at the charred remains of notes and the personal notebook, “did she ever talk about why she wanted to find this anvil so badly? Why she felt the gates were dangerous?”

He shook his head, and as Oghren read, his face changed, and their destination became clear enough - the Dead Trenches awaited. Ominous, indeed.


	26. Legion of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and her crew meet the Legion of the Dead in the Deep Roads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope if you are reading this, you are doing well -- or as well as we can in this year 2020.

If the name of their next destination weren’t ominous enough, the growing darkness of the Deep Roads would have been sufficient. Alistair could feel the darkness crawling over him; even Sten and Elissa, both of whom preferred shadows, seemed ill at ease in the crushing black that surrounded them.

There were blessedly few Darkspawn, a fact that Oghren attributed to their approaching the territory of the Legion of the Dead. Another less-than-comforting name in a less-than-comforting place. 

The entire party was quiet, the loudest noises provided by Rood occasionally barking and the heavy footfalls of Shale. He took comfort in these things, though. Let any Darkspawn lurking about hear them - a massive Mabari fittingly named for the largest of the Hounds of Shadow and a stone…construct…thing - and they would likely think twice about attacking. Of course it was easy to think that way. The far more disconcerting thing was that he sensed none nearby, no matter Oghren’s claims that this was a good thing.

He understood in theory what they were doing down here. It was important to close this gate. He knew that. He didn’t know what kind of gate this was, and he had no sense for those things, but if Leliana and Morrigan were concerned, enough to concern Elissa, then it needed to be resolved. Somehow.

It wasn’t all darkness, though. They had spent the better part of a week underground now, and he had been able to steal more than a few evenings with Elissa. If being in the Deep Roads was the payment for that, he’d pay it again and again.

Elissa was wondrous. He knew that before, but every day she had been able to reinforce it.

Her childhood had been different from his in many ways and similar in others. She and her brother would play soldier; she trained from a young age in fighting. He learned about her mother’s family, their prominence for generations as assassins. She told him about her education in famous battles, studying Loghain’s own strategies against Orlais.

He shared his own stories - about the intensive training he underwent with the templar order, his earlier childhood in Redcliffe, his curiosity about his mother. 

“I have…a sister,” he had explained one night, speaking softly, despite their having wandered away from the camp. 

“How did you find her?”

“I haven’t yet. But if we go to Denerim, I’d like to find her, I think.”

He had learned a lot about her. And not just her childhood or what she thought about Fener, or her use of Meanas. Also how soft her lips were, what it felt like to have her fingers skimming across his lower abdomen. He knew how she whimpered when he trailed open-mouthed kisses behind her ear and down her neck.

He knew visceral, blinding want for her, too.

But the Deep Roads was not the place that they would have one another for the first time; they had agreed on that, when things started to get a little too heated. 

The memories of that night were at the forefront of his mind when he realized that the party was stopping and, even more noticeable once he came back to the present, there was a brighter area ahead.

He made his way up to the front of their little group and slowed to an awed stop.

The Dead Trenches was really more a single trench, a gaping maw, a jagged gash slashing across the rough stone floor of a wide cavern and disappearing into a cave.

A single stone bridge spanned across, and on the side nearer them, a meager force of dwarves wearing heavy black armor were clashing with Darkspawn that the trench seemed to be bleeding out.

“Sten! Alistair!”

Elissa’s shout had him sprinting toward the dwarves, Sten overtaking him after a few strides. Leliana called to Shale, who lumbered behind, the creature’s steps felt more than anything. He lost sight of Elissa in the shadows that flickered near the drop off into the trench, but he wasn’t worried at that.

The dwarves said nothing as he and Sten joined in, the Edur sliding to flank the Darkspawn that were coming off the bridge. Alistair was never quite able to follow the man entirely in a fight; like Elissa he sometimes seemed to flicker. He was also fast, his spear an extension of his body that led their enemies on a merry chase sometimes.

No time to admire the skill, though.

One of the shorter creatures - Genlocks, they were often called - was charging at him. He waited, counted its short steps…3…2…1, and brought up his shield, stepping into the charge. The creature’s low center of gravity made it solid, and he felt the impact travel through his arm. He stepped back enough to swing, his sword cutting through its shoulder, snapping the tendons and scraping against bone. It didn’t fall, but it wouldn’t hold a sword, either.

The ferocity of the dwarves fighting by him did not escape notice. It was clear enough that this troop was practiced against Darkspawn, unmoved by the ferocity of their opponents or their grotesque nature. 

A flash up ahead on the bridge, and Alistair recognized the lethal dance of the Shield Anvil, fluid motion that flowed freely between the rough, uneven attacks of the Darkspawn. No matter how many times they fought together, no matter his trust in her abilities, every time she was so far ahead, he prayed that the Lady would stay with them.

The stragglers were stopped on the bridge, and the Legion, along with Sten, Alistair, and Shale, which had announced its presence by stepping on one of the Darkspawn, made quick work of those that had made it across.

Quiet settled. No more creatures appeared on the crossing. 

Elissa shimmered more fully into view, walking steadily over the corpses towards them.

Close the gate, he thought, and then let’s get above ground.

* * *

Elissa scanned the far end of the bridge for any more stragglers heading her way. There was nothing, and the silence after the battle was almost worse than the battle itself. She felt a sort of _pressure_ when she was on the bridge, and she didn’t know the specifics, but it was definitely from the trench. She wanted off the damn thing, so she turned and started a light jog back to her companions.

Rood on her heels once more, she closed the distance, just as Oghren, Leliana, and Wynne approached. 

“Thank you strangers, for the assist,” the lead dwarf in the black armor spoke, setting the head of his massive hammer against the stones beneath them.

“Happy to offer it. I am Elissa Cousland, Shield Anvil of Fener. My companions and I,” she indicated to the rest of them, “are following the trail of the Paragon Branka.”

The man huffed, “Kardol, of the Legion of the Dead.”

Oghren pushed past Shale, “Have you seen Branka? She came this way. We know she did.”

He held up her journal, shaking it slightly.

Kardol nodded, idly spinning the head of his hammer on the ground, “Aye. She and members of her family. They came looking for the Anvil of the Void. I hope you’re not after it, too. It’s a fool’s errand.”

Elissa sighed, “If that’s where she went, then that’s where we’re headed.”

“It’s nothing but a legend. There’s nothing beyond this bridge but darkness and Darkspawn.”

Oghren grunted, “So you’ve been across then?”

Kardol looked at him then, huffing a short laugh, “I don’t need to. We hold this position, and we keep Orzammar safe. We’re the only reason you made it this far.”

He likely would have argued, given some sort of retort, but Elissa cast him a sharp look, and he shut his mouth. She would not have him disrupting this conversation; it was clear enough that Kardol had reservations about what was beyond that bridge, that he would attempt to dissuade them. Proving to be hotheaded and heedless of his warning would get them nowhere.

“Unfortunately I have to find Branka, or at the least proof that she came this way.”

The Legion leader nodded, turned to his own troops, “Break and rest. You should rest, too.”

Leliana approached then, “This trench…”

Another gruff chuckle, “It’s a gate.”

That explained the pressure that accompanied being on the bridge. Her eyes flicked to Alistair, who was in possession of their rare artifact, the otataral blade, and she wondered if it would react at all, given the proximity.

Leliana may have had the same thought, since she nodded vaguely and wandered to Alistair’s side, speaking quietly under the pretense of checking on him, leaving Elissa to the dwarves.

“How do you think this legend of the Anvil got started?”

Kardol shrugged, rolling his shoulder toward an area where tents were pitched, “Like anything else, I suppose? I don’t know. All I know is that gate spits out Darkspawn, and we kill them. Our numbers are too few to close it.”

“Close it?”

“Aye. It’s something that was once in the power of the Legion but no longer. I’ll speak no more of it. If you mean to cross, you should rest up.”

“Of course. Thank you. If I may? When did you see Branka?”

A shrug, “Probably close to a few months ago now. Time has little meaning here, as you can imagine.”

She nodded; sensing that talk of these legends, as he said, were likely boring to him, she changed tactics, “Your crew is obviously seasoned. How long have you been down here?”

The change in subject was welcome, and he nodded proudly, “I do have a solid crew here. Combined we have near fifty years of experience fighting Darkspawn. And you? You’re a Grey Warden, if you’re a Shield Anvil of Fener.”

Elissa paused. Her title held weight, and she’d thrown it out there, but it sat awkwardly for a moment - she hadn’t spent time with the Wardens, had barely known Duncan, and here she was, carrying them with her. She nodded, “Yes, I am the Shield Anvil, but I’m afraid I joined just before they were betrayed by Loghain.”

Kardol squinted at her, “Doubt Fener worries how long you’ve worn the armor.”

That had her laughing, the weight that had shifted into place lifting once more, “True enough. We won’t take advantage of your hospitality. The sooner we can get across and get what we came for, the better I think.”

The dwarf nodded, “End this fool’s errand as soon as you can.”

“Exactly.”

She turned back to her companions to share her orders, though her eyes strayed across the bridge once more.

* * *

Oghren was starstruck, to say the least. Growing up he’d heard tales of the Legion of the Dead, warriors condemned for misdeeds who valiantly sought to redeem themselves. He was old enough now to know that the romantic stories were given a nice spit polish to wow young boys like himself, but it was difficult to shake the awe he felt watching the black armor-clad warriors wiping poisoned blood from their weapons with cloth equally black from use.

No matter his boyhood notions, however, Branka was on the other side of that bridge, and so that’s where he was itching to go. He knew well enough that Elissa wouldn’t delay any more than necessary, and that relaxed him enough to let him enjoy the moment.

They didn’t linger. Elissa gave them long enough to catch their breath, tend to their weapons, and gather themselves. There was something not right about that bridge, after all. Even he could sense it, and the way Leliana was staring at the thing, as if it were plagued, was foreboding enough.

“Kardol, we thank you,” Elissa was starting the goodbyes, so he grabbed his gear and went to stand alongside the others.

He wasn’t sure how he fit in with these humans - two mages, two wardens, a dog, a grey man, and a shambling rock…thing. If any of them had vices, he didn’t see them, and he handled his insecurities the same way he handled everything - through drink. As if to remind himself of this fact, he took a long draw from his flask, wiping the excess from his beard.

Elissa approached them, studying them each in turn, “We head over the bridge. The Legion has no further information about what we may find, so we need to be prepared for anything. Oghren, keep those smoke screens ready. Sten, you’ll be our spearhead. Leliana, I want you toward the back, and Wynne, stick to the middle.”

They all nodded their understanding, and a thrum of anticipation swelled in Oghren’s chest, almost as warm as the spirits.

With a final wave, Elissa led them to the bridge. Sten stepped onto it and led the way.

“Well built,” he muttered to Wynne, whom he had decided to stick beside.

She nodded vaguely, staring over the side, “The gate…it’s…trying.”

Not knowing what that meant or what to do, he lifted his flask to her, satisfied enough when she took it and drank deep.

He fought to keep in step with her; the bridge wasn’t all that long after all, but he needed to get across, see what Branka had seen, find whatever bread crumbs she had left for him. 

Not for him, he knew in his heart of hearts. She had taken everyone. Everyone except for him. The memory drove him to his flask, and his eyes burned on the point where this crossing ended. She had taken everyone but him. Him she had left behind, and it wasn’t for him she had left these little clues. She hadn’t meant to leave any clues. It was just her way, and he stupidly could never forget them.

They met no resistance on the bridge, though both Wynne and Leliana seemed to be on edge the entire way. Once across, they were face-to-face with a massive door. Oghren was not a Shaper, did not speak to the Stone the same way others did, but he didn’t imagine what was in front of him. Whatever that door attached to was not part of the natural structure of this cavern; it was something that had…fallen.

He wondered if Kardol and the others knew or if they had never even come this far. He also wondered, for the first time, if maybe the Anvil of the Void was real.

* * *

This was familiar.

Wynne frowned in distaste. She had not cared for the energy of Ortan Thaig, and this strange fortress was a more virulent strain of the same. It was a strange thing, a city carved into rock that itself had fallen into rock, but it was distinct. For Wynne, and she imagined for Leliana as well, it was like stepping from solid ground into a river. There was still rock below her feet, but she was drenched in something cold that stole her breath, and her footing was anything but sure.

The massive doors did not open, so Sten led them through a crude cut in the wall nearby, as if someone built a mine shaft alongside the opening. 

That was why it was some time before they came upon the precise, evenly cut stones that they had encountered in Ortan Thaig. This place was built by the same culture that had built the Thaig - that much was clear.

And soon after coming upon what might have been a city block, they came upon the first remains of the former occupants.

Or what they had assumed were former occupants. 

“What…” Alistair’s voice echoed through the wide chamber they had entered, startling the silence.

“Everything is frozen in this moment,” Leliana answered his unfinished question, words much quieter, as she examined the scene.

Massive creatures, scaled, reptilian were scattered on the floor, lying motionless in pools of blood still sticky and fresh. There were large, gaunt creatures with strange rings or hooks embedded in their hips; others, also taller than any of their party, though shorter than their fellows, with forearms that formed blades, as if they had been replaced entirely with swords.

“K’Chain Che’Malle,” Alistair supplied, stopped by one of the corpses and staring down at it, “They fought with the K’Chain Nah’ruk.”

At this second name, he pointed out one of the creatures that Wynne realized had a shorter tail than the others.

Elissa approached him, spinning in a slow circle to take in the carnage, “Is this…?”

He shook his head.

Wynne didn’t know how Alistair would have that knowledge, and she sensed asking would be a breach of trust, so she simply followed them, walking carefully around the pooling blood and viscera.

“Leliana - thoughts?” Elissa finally voiced.

The other mage shook her head, “I’ve never seen this warren. It could be a hold.”

The further in they went, the more crowded the floor became, the strange bodies clustered around doorways. Doorways that were usually closed but sometimes not; inside those that they could access were strangely warm stone rooms.

“The Nah’Ruk,” Alistair was explaining, “were invading this Skykeep.”

Again she wanted to ask how he would know these things, and again she kept her mouth shut. It was painful, to be surrounded on all sides by death that had, by all accounts, occurred so very long ago, but looked fresh enough that she should be able to cure them.

"The Dead Trenches,” she said instead, and they all fell silent once more.


	27. The Dead Trenches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The warden's group venture into an ancient Skykeep - Ortan Thaig, where they find what must be the Anvil of the Void.

Walking into this Skykeep, as Alistair called it, was like stepping directly into a spell. Everything was still, frozen in time; even the air was strangely static - breathable, not even stale, but unmoving in a way that Leliana had never experienced before. It was fascinating, just as it was unnerving.

The power was everywhere. Clearly whatever had happened had happened suddenly, without warning. Or perhaps it hadn’t. After all, why would an invader attack with a spell that only seemed to freeze the fallen creatures in time. Unless, and this thought had her spine tingling, unless it was a slow-moving spell that would eventually overtake them as well.

She doubted that, in truth. And who was to say some of the creatures here had been dead at the time the spell was cast? Who knew how ancient this Skykeep and its former inhabitants were. Maybe they had simply died agonizingly slow over the past millennia.

That thought was no more comforting.

”Look for signs of Branka’s company. Surely they would have left some sign here, as they did at Ortan Thaig,” Elissa’s voice rang out in the open hall but did not echo, as they might have expected, instead rising and then falling flat in the stone room.

Leliana was not a tracker, and given dwarves’ inability to access the warrens, it was unlikely she would be of any use anyway. 

Wynne was examining one of the corpses, no doubt using her skill with Denul to sense any remaining ties to life. 

Given her own limitations, this freed her to instead explore this strange place frozen in time. As with the thaig they had passed through, this keep had stone dwellings within. Unlike Ortan, however, these were unlocked - clearly the inhabitants had not been expecting the initial attack.

Inside the interior structures she found sparse rooms, the most crowded of which housed weapons. She wondered at the lack of what she would consider creature comforts, but then given the size of the reptilian creatures, would they really need beds?

Her musings on the ancient culture came to a halt when she felt something ripple through the magic, the stillness that she had been growing accustomed to suddenly disrupted. It was only then she realized how far she had strayed from the rest of the group.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up; her heart crept into her throat, and she swallowed her alarm as best as she could, backing away towards the central chamber once more.

She didn’t dare call out to the others, not wanting to draw attention to herself, even as she felt the tremors in the floor, heard a sort of thump-click noise coming down a side passage. It was moving fast. Realizing how quickly it was closing, she turned and sprinted.

Leliana burst into the clearing, and the party turned, immediately drawing arms. Wynne went pale. Alistair’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. Elissa’s mouth set in a grim line. And Leliana was just glad she wasn’t seeing whatever was behind her. She slid haphazardly to the right, taking cover in a doorframe and reaching out for whatever warrens she could access first.

The creature slid to a stop just inside the wide cavern that they had been exploring.

It was like the corpses they had been investigating - tall, taller than Shale, standing on two powerful legs, its arms narrowing into flat blades that swung idly in front of it, reptilian face turning side to side to take in its prey.

They had only a second before it moved again, faster than anything she had seen, blades swiping horizontally out at her party members. Sten blurred into the shadows, and Alistair dove at Elissa to take her to the ground. The blades missed Oghren by half a foot, and Wynne was still far enough way to not be in the arc of the attack.

Shale lumbered to its side, drew back its fist, and punched the meat of its thigh.

It made no sound, perhaps the most eery part of what was happening, even as it drove one of its bladed arms forward and down, aiming for Alistair and Elissa, who rolled desperately away.

Finally catching her breath, Leliana felt a warren, grabbed it, and let it flow.

The ground shook, the only warning before the rock, where the blade-arm had struck, sparking against the floor, sprang up around the blade, capturing its end. The creature was fast, and it nearly pulled free, but at least part of the appendage was trapped. The other blade swung out and clashed against the stone prison.

Leliana knew it wouldn’t hold for long. And they were absolutely no match for this creature if it got free.

Shale leaned down, arm over its chest, then stood and swung hard. It’s stone forearm crashed into what might be the elbow area of the arm that was trapped. There was a crunching noise, and the limb crumpled in the middle.

Oghren, mostly unaffected by the swinging arms, given his short stature, tugged a cork free from a glass vial and tossed the vial at the creature’s feet, bellowing, “Needs a spark!”

Leliana obliged, finding Tellan and opening it just enough, just where the yellowish liquid had pooled at the thing’s taloned hind legs. The flames shot up immediately, a bright flash that was more blue than red. The creature tried to scrabble back; its frantic rush back against the stone, coupled by the shattered bones of its upper arm, saw the limb ripping free. Hot blood splashed out, and it swung wildly.

Shale saw its opportunity. It backed up then took a running start, leaning its shoulder down and making contact directly in the creature’s midsection. The still attached blade scraped along its back, chips of stone and dirt flying away, but Shale continued forward.

The creature stumbled back, and Leliana saw Sten appear, spear in hand. He jogged back, staying behind the creature, keeping up with the momentum, as Shale pushed, heels digging in, until the creature, burned and being pressed, stumbled. Sten lunged, spear tip disappearing into back of its head, as it came down.

Still the creature moved, even as Sten ripped his spear free.

Shale crawled up, lending its weight to the creature’s chest to keep it down, even as its sword arm continued to swing. It punched the reptilian face, fists coming down two at a time, then one after the other, the sound growing progressively more soft and wet until Wynne cried out, “Stop! Stop it!”

Shale looked to Leliana, who nodded shakily.

Shale climbed free of the corpse, backing away and coming to stand still at its feet.

The party stood collectively, approaching the corpse slowly, breathing heavily despite the distinct lack of actual combat.

”Everyone ok?” Elissa finally mustered.

Uneasy nods all around.

”What the hell was that thing?”

”A Kell Hunter,” Alistair offered, waving to its detached sword arm, “but a weak one.”

”Wynne - is anything else still alive down here?”

Wynne shook her head slowly, “Shield Anvil…I cannot say that this one even was.”

Well…that made this more interesting.

* * *

Oghren had never seen one of these creatures - Kell hunters - had never even heard of them. Fighting it was no picnic, but all he could think about was Branka. Had she encountered one of these? More? For the first time, he started to truly wonder if she was alive.

”Leliana, it was following you - where had you gone?” Elissa was pressing, hoping to find out if there were more.

Regardless they had to get out of this open space, he knew.

The mage led them down the passageway where the Kell Hunter had fallen, what looked like a normal street, save for the occasional corpse. They turned only once, and Leliana pointed out where she had been and where she thought the source of the sound might have been.

”If this is anything like most thaigs,” he offered, studying the building she had been in, “it’s likely this sort of spirals, with the largest building at the center.”

With no other leads, the party turned to what he guessed was the center, and they started on towards whatever lie there. The side avenues they traversed were less cluttered than the main thoroughfare they had entered upon, which made the walk almost normal. The normalcy, more than anything, made it foreboding. This structure that they had entered was laid out just like a thaig. Through the drunken haze that he muddied his mind with, a tiny voice asked if perhaps everything the dwarves claimed to have built were in fact the product of this more ancient race.

Despite whatever magic had held this place frozen in time, there were parts of the massive construct that had given way to the stone around it; one moment they’d be in a pristine walkway, the next a rough-hewn path. 

It made for a strange walk, but his instincts were right, and they soon came upon a central chamber with a smaller chamber nestled in its center. In many thaigs, this small central room became the Shaperate. If he were a scholar, he’d be more interested, probably, in what they would find. As it stood, this was just one more obstacle. 

They had found the main avenue once more, which passed under a finely carved archway before opening into the grand inner sanctum. He was focused on the task, lulled into a sense of security at the familiarity of the layout, enough that Leliana tugging his armor frantically was all that stopped his booted foot from hitting the first smooth tile inside the circular room.

”Hey now,” he grumbled, stumbling and then righting himself, “what is your sodding problem?”

The mage frowned at him, then waved at the floor, “Fool. There are traps here. Look at those stones.”

He glared at her insult but did as he was asked. Sure enough the tile immediately before the walkway they were on was a different color than that they were standing on. Worse, looking out at the expanse before them, there were traces of those who had stepped onto the slightly off-color stones.

”Hood-damned lizards,” was all he could think to say in response, “how are we supposed to get across then?”

The others had come to a stop behind them, most of them staying close after their earlier encounter. 

Elissa’s voice broke their silence, “We’ll stop here. Sten, keep to the rear, watch behind us. Alistair, with him. Leliana, Oghren, think you can figure this out?”

”Aye,” he offered, just as Leliana nodded her own affirmation.

While their companions took a short rest, he studied the floor more closely, “Don’t see a pattern.”

Leliana traced the air with a finger, “No pattern, but you see there IS a path. It loops a couple of times. What happens if we stray from the path, though, is the real question?”

He waved towards the center, where some indiscernible shapes were scattered, “Looks like nothing good,” fished around in his pouch and produced a rock, “We could test it?”

She frowned, “What if it summons another of those creatures?”

He waved, “Then it’ll set off traps, too, I guess.”

Still frowning, she sighed and shrugged, “Just try for one out a way from us. If it’s explosive or something, we have no cover here.”

”This isn’t my first time, girl,” he growled, drawing his arm back and tossing the stone midway between their party and the door to the small central structure.

For a breath, nothing happened, and he was about to laugh and stride forward when the most subtle hissing noise reached their ears - soft but echoing in the room beyond. Another heartbeat, and they could see dust floating up where air was being released, perhaps. The rock seemed unharmed, but that didn’t mean they would be, “Steam?”

Leliana nodded, “That’s my guess.”

“Alright, well we need to also address that these stones were clearly built for something with a longer stride…”

There was a clear enough path, following the stones that matched the stone they stood upon, but making it from one to the other could prove difficult. Some, though not all, were over a yard away, the space between filled with the potential steam traps.

”Leave that bit to me,” Leliana announced, standing, and approaching Elissa to let her know what they had determined. 

Oghren, for his part, was curious about those lumps of metal or…whatever it was. He had ideas, but he shuddered to think that he was right. No doubt Branka would have come this way, too. How did she solve this room? 

“Alright,” Elissa was saying, suddenly next to him, “send me then.”

”What? No,” Alistair shoved up to the front, “Not a chance. You can’t be sent across. What if something happens?”

”I won’t let it,” Leliana assured him.

”What are we even doing, then?”

”I am going to have Leliana float me from one to another. We can’t all go, but easy enough for one of us.”

Before Alistair could argue, Elissa had taken a few steps back then sprinted forward and leaped past, coming to land on the first stone that matched where they stood. With nothing else to do, Oghren set about to help, “Next one will be to your right!”

”I can make that one!”

Sure enough, the warden bounded two short steps and made another jump, landing gracefully on the next stone.

”A bit of help on this one, Leliana!”

The mage, standing to his left, nodded. Other than the sheen of sweat on her brow, he would not have known she was casting any sort of magic, but he watched, as did Alistair, whose hand gripped his shoulder painfully tight, Elissa take another leap and sore, somehow, through the air, as if picked up by a current in the air itself.

It was a tense half bell, watching her gauge distances, sometimes able to barely skip, sometimes requiring whatever warren Leliana was using to get her across. Her cry of alarm at the site of whatever was strewn near the center confirmed the worst of Oghren’s own fears. His throat felt sour, even as she finally reached the center, balls of her feet bouncing on the bottom step of the small building.

She bowed to them from where she stood, opened the door, and was out of sight.

* * *

1024 Burn’s Sleep - Day 13 of our exhibition

I don’t know what this place is, but it reminds me of Ortan, with its smooth stones and tall walls. But there are bodies here. Fresh bodies. And yet we heard no signs of battle on our approach. Given the size of this place, I would have expected to hear them.

It is quiet, and it is sad. I think that they were protecting their home. The creatures are so large; I shudder to think what could have defeated them.

Day 16 of our exhibition

I found a chamber with a creature that was still…somehow alive. Or very close to it. Its size puts the others to shame - a towering creature, and as we approached, it let out a shriek, a wail almost, and from it came one of those like we saw in the main thoroughfare.

We shouted our peaceful intentions, and we were spared. 

The thing that it birthed…a massive thing without arms but instead blades that swung in low, horizontal arcs. And faster than anything I have seen.

It stopped, not attacking us, when we threw down our arms, and the…mother…saw. 

Luck was further on our side; Darkspawn had followed us, and before we could prepare our defenses, the creature was on them. They were all of them slain.

Day 34

She has spoken to me, in my mind. She is called Matron, and she has birthed K’ell Hunters. To defend this place from invaders.

I do not know if she speaks of the Darkspawn, but I will not overlook the first true weapon we have against them.

Day 45

We have learned that these creatures have life force significant enough to seal a breach. One opened along the edge of the trench, and one of the creatures ran into it, we thought after Darkspawn. But when it ran in, the breach closed. No more creatures came from it.

Day 59

The Matron was screaming last night. Even from our camps near the entrance, we could hear her where she slumbers, far below. 

I took the side passage down to her, hoping to avoid any of her brood on the way - given the cries, I did not think we would be welcome. When I arrived, she had produced something I had never seen, a fanged thing, taller than the others and without bladed arms, but even as I watched, it changed.

Her pain was great.

She called it a Ve’Gath.

Day 62

I understand why she birthed the Ve’Gath. Soon after the night I heard her screaming, a massive wave of Darkspawn came. The creature shifted, its scales becoming heavier right before our eyes, and it alone destroyed almost a company of the creatures.

We need more. We should take them to our homes, to protect us.

1026 Burn’s Sleep

Her screams are relentless. We have thrown many into the breaches, and I wonder…does it it hurt? Does she feel their pain, too?

I cannot allow this to continue. Our cities are safe, but at what cost? Our souls. 

How long before the pain drives her mad? How long before that madness spreads?

I will destroy all knowledge of the Matron, allow her to live in peace.

* * *

Elissa felt sick reading the journal, about Caridin’s work to bring the Matron back to true conciousness, only to control her. Parts of the tome were unreadable, due to age, but it was clear enough that the so-called Paragon had come to regret what he had done to earn that title and had sought to right his own wrongs.

The pieces fell into place. 

The Anvil of the Void was not an anvil; no weapons that a dwarf could weild were made here, but it was clear enough that at the time, the dwarves considered those creatures birthed by the Matron to be little more than tools to be used again the Darkspawn.

And Branka was looking for it.

She closed the heavy volume carefully, not wishing to damage the book. She slid it gingerly into her pack and stepped outside, ready to make the journey back to her friends.

There was a rush when Leliana helped her span the larger distances - no doubt the closest she would ever get to flying. Seeing the remains of those who had failed this crossing, no doubt at the behest of the woman whose trail they followed, lessened the euphoria of it, though.

The journey back across the room was shorter, and in a few dozen heartbeats, she was landing neatly in the hallway where Alistair was clearly fighting the urge to take her into his arms, and Oghren was practically crawling out of his skin to ask what she’d found.

“Caridin,“ she started tugging open her pack, reaching in for her treasured find, “found what he called a Matron. She was alive, and she birthed warriors. The ancient dwarves used the warriors to help them fight Darkspawn, but the pain…it was too much. And he took pity on her.”

She had opened the journal to the final passages, allowing the others to look upon the words from the paragon himself.

“So the Anvil…”

“Is not an Anvil. I don’t know if this Matron is still alive, but if she is, it’s clear that Branka means to force her to birth these warriors again.”

Silence fell over them, most eyes on Oghren, who shook his head slowly, “Surely she doesn’t mean to…she just doesn’t know.”

Elissa nodded, clapped his shoulder, “Well let’s see if we can’t find this Matron. Help Branka make the right choice, eh?”

With Caridin’s journal for a map, finding the chamber he described was easy enough. As they moved further into the structure of the fallen Skykeep, the temperature rose steadily. It wasn’t as hot as the bulk of their paths through the Deep Roads, but it was warmer than they would have guessed.

They saw no more corpses this far into the structure, but every once in a while, Elissa swore she could hear…something. Something in the walls, perhaps, scuttling along their same path. She was sure there were underground creatures that they had not encountered; she thought to ask Oghren but decided against it. They needed to move quickly, not stop to investigate every little noise.

The chamber was as Caridin described, as was the Matron. She was larger by far than the creatures they had seen thus far, and in the echoing cavern, her heartbeat reverberated, slow and quiet, but there, and spaced in between those, long, slow breaths that made the air shift around them.

”She’s beautiful,” Wynne whispered behind Elissa, and she couldn’t help but agree. 

“Is she conscious?”

Wynne closed her eyes, reached out, and shook her head slowly, “No. She is in some sort of hibernation, I believe.”

Elissa nodded, walking in a slow circle around the chamber. On the far side was an expanse of the carefully carved stone of the Skykeep for some hundred or so yards, then a ragged edge of natural stone, where the walls of the structure were crumbling on either side. Finally beyond that a chasm that might have been part of the massive gate that was the Dead Trenches.

Something about that sparked in Elissa’s mind, and as the others explored, she returned to Caridin’s journal. There was something that hadn’t made sense at the time, but now…

She approached the sleeping matron slowly; grief, cold and consuming, came off of her in waves, even as she slept. Past her and to the edge of the stone.

The tears came unbidden, as she stared into the chasm beyond. They had thrown her children in - so many of them, one after another, to close the gate. 

Elissa turned slowly to the matron, whose eye was opening to meet hers. It came to her in visions, less than words, the image sharp and clear. A sacrifice. But also an end. 

“No, I…” she shook her head, but the matron let out a harsh breath. She would do this somehow, and without their help, it would be even more painful.

“Matron…Mother…I accept-”

The breath was forced from her lungs, as something - someone - barreled into her side. 

* * *

None of this had been what Alistair was expecting. The creatures, the puzzles, and now the matron, alone in this place. All relics from a past so beyond them, like stories he may have been told as a child, yet here he was, living it.

He was in awe, so he didn’t notice her at first, but when she came, she came fast, a dark-haired dwarf that dove into Elissa from the side.

He drew his sword, running toward where Elissa had pushed the dwarf off with her hip, spinning her around and sliding free, dagger drawn.

“Branka!”

Oghren came running from behind him, shouting the woman’s name despite his heaving breaths, “Stone take you, woman! She’s with me!”

Branka looked at him, and he didn’t see warmth or happiness in her expression, even as she stood and approached, “Oghren. It figures you’d eventually find your way here. Hopefully you can find your way back more easily.”

Elissa wasn’t lowering her dagger, so he kept his sword and shield raised, even as the new arrival stared at the Shield Anvil, “And how shall I address you? Hired sword of the most recent lordling to send someone to look for me? Or just the only one that didn’t mind Oghren’s ale breath?”

“Be respectful woman,” Oghren warned, taking a step closer, “You’re talking to the Shield Anvil of Fener.”

“Ah, so an important errand girl then? I suppose something serious has happened. Is Endrin dead? That seems most likely…”

Branka was pacing back and forth now, and Alistair noted that Elissa was slipping further back, shadows dancing around her.

“We need a king to send aid, to help us stop a blight,” Alistair offered, hoping to keep the woman distracted.

A snort, “A king won’t stop a blight. We’ve had 40 kings and lost everything. I don’t care if they put a drunken bhoka’rala on the throne, it wouldn’t matter. What matters is that the greatest weapon we’ve ever had for our armies has been unavailable to us, hidden by Darkspawn. But now…”

She turned to the matron, eyes gleaming, “Caridin’s journal holds the answers. I will have it now.”

Elissa had given them enough information for him to know that she would never allow that. 

“You will not,” Elissa’s voice carried from the shadows, “It is merciless, and it didn’t even work then. Not really.”

The dwarf woman spun slowly, scanning the shadows on either side, “What do you know of it? You’re an outsider. Your kind only calls it a blight when the creatures come above ground, while we live with the breaches and stem the tide with our own blood all the time.”

“We can help. But you will not receive the journal.”

The shadows swarmed a moment, then dispersed, revealing the shield anvil, standing at the edge of the trench yards away, journal held over the air.

“NO!”

Time contracted around them, as everything burst into motion at once. Branka began sprinting toward Elissa. Oghren was sprinting after Branka. Sten appeared out of the shadows, as they began to recede further. Wynne shouted something, and Leliana threw something small and gray that was soaring through the air.

Branka drew her sword and lunged.

Elissa stepped back and dropped the book into the chasm at her side.

Branka shrieked and dove after it.

Oghren dove to the ground to catch her leg before it disappeared over the side but missed, and Sten caught him.

“How dare you!” Branka was screaming up at Elissa, who knelt down and offered her hand.

“Come on! I can help you up!”

Alistair made it to her side just as the flash of a blade appeared, slashing at Elissa’s hand. It slid over her palm, and she yanked it back.

“Never.”

Real fear was in Elissa’s eyes, “No, Branka, listen to me. That isn’t just a chasm. Don’t throw yourself in there. It’s not what you-”

But the dwarf sneered at her, “I know what I’m doing. And it just means that I’ll be waiting.”

“Branka!” Oghren shouted to his right, even as Alistair was pulling Elissa from the edge of the canyon, even as Branka let her grip go entirely.

The dwarf spun to them, eyes blazing, “You let her fall! You let her go after that book - why didn’t you just give it to her?!”

“I couldn’t let her do that to this matron. I wanted to save her - I tried!”

Alistair pushed Elissa behind him, sword drawn and pointed at the angry man, “Oghren, you know that Elissa would never knowingly put your wife in danger.”

“There had to be another way.”

“There was! She could have listened to us. She could have heard Elissa out.”

Elissa pushed past him and threw her arms around Oghren, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think…I didn’t think…”

Her hand was still bleeding where Branka had cut her. Her blood smeared Oghren’s armor, perhaps sobering him enough to nod gruffly, “Aye. You…you did try.”

She pulled away again after a moment, though not to return to the edge, instead walking to the matron at the center of the room, hand out and speaking softly. He willed his feet to follow, thinking for a moment he should check on Oghren but unable to make himself do anything but continue after her.

“Are you sure?” she was asking.

It took all of his self restraint to keep from taking Elissa’s arm, to instead stand quietly behind her, and he was relieved, when she turned to him, “Alistair, help me. Sten!”

The Edur was there in an instant, stepping from shadows, his question obvious enough to both of them.

“She wants,” Elissa said, taking a steadying breath, “to go over the side. She needs help.”


	28. Returning to Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group fulfills the matrons wishes, and they return to Orzammar to make good on their deal.

Sten felt that it was a noble cause, and for a mother who had no children that weren’t dead or beyond her reach, it was likely a mercy. Wynne had taken over comforting Oghren, who was now sobbing loudly into her bosom, and he wondered if the man was quite as torn up about it all as he was letting on, the way he kept rubbing his face against her.

But he had a task, one that required his full attention.

Alistair nodded to him on the other side of the matron’s body, Shale further down toward where her tail wrapped around.

They lifted her as carefully as they could; she proved to be rather heavy, but Shale helped ease the burden tremendously, while Elissa cradled her strange, reptilian maw, speaking against what was likely an aural cavity.

It was a sound plan to close the gate, or at least lessen its influence. Elissa clearly recognized that, otherwise he could not imagine her agreeing to this plan. Did she know? he wondered. Did she know the pain that would be involved for this matron?

She must.

They were close to the edge. Shale stopped. The matron’s tail, longer than the others they had seen, was already hanging over the edge. The massive rock creature continued to support weight - soon the weight alone would drag the matron over the edge.

Elissa’s murmurs became more frantic, but he still could not make out the words.

Finally she nodded, a moment before the mass of the matron caused the rest of her to slide out of from his and Alistair’s hands.

She fell silently.

There was a brief flash far below, followed by a sort of rumbling.

Elissa followed after her, dropping to her knees at the edge of the canyon, staring down into its depths, eyes glistening. Alistair knelt beside her.

He pulled her away from the edge, tugging her away, even as she fought against him, staring at the edge, “Elissa. Elissa, look at me.”

Sten took a steadying breath and stepped away.

The matron’s life force was likely rather weak. Her sacrifice, while noble, would not seal the gate forever, but he would not say as much to Elissa. He wondered if the scars of their journey into the Deep Roads, those that she now bore, would ever heal.

* * *

“What are we going to take back? If we go back there empty handed…” Leliana stared down at the darkness far below the edge of the drop off.

She hated to be the person to bring it up. Elissa was taking the matron’s sacrifice rather hard, and Oghren’s wife had thrown herself over a canyon rather than go back with them. It was, however, a valid question.

Alistair shot her a scathing look, but Elissa held out her hand, opening her fingers to reveal a metal coin of some sort, “It was Caridin’s. He was also a paragon.”

She offered no further details, and Leliana found herself reticent to ask.

They did not camp in the Skykeep, instead trekking through the darkness of the ruins, back across to bridge, to stay once more with the Legion. It seemed that even they could tell that something had happened - admittedly the gate wasn’t closed permanently, but it was the equivalent of shutting a door so that it appeared closed, though in truth it wasn’t latched. 

They also encountered no Darkspawn on their return journey, even traversing the darker side passages that they had had to use in lieu of the main roads. It was as though the creatures had disappeared with the gate’s closing, though more likely (and horrifyingly) they had made their way, en masse, to the surface now.

With the lack of enemies, their return was swift, and it was only four days before they found themselves back at the opening that spilled into the city of Orzammar.

The guards looked surprised to see them, and she enjoyed the look of clear disbelief on their faces, though they did not linger for long. 

It was clear enough to all of them that Elissa wanted nothing more than to get out of this place, her strides purposeful on the way to the Diamond Quarter and the Assembly Hall.

Their group entered the hall, pushing past the protests into the main room. Elissa strode proudly into the middle of the rotunda within, turning in a slow circle to gaze at those assembled.

Harrowmont was among them and stepped up, “It is the Shield Anvil! She has returned. Let her speak!”

“I do not see a paragon with her, Lord Harrowmont,” another dwarf jeered.

The woman in question held up her hand, coin in her fingers, “I bring a token from Caridin himself. The…anvil…is no longer viable. Branka perished in the Deep Roads.”

The crowd erupted with shouts of disbelief, anger, but an older man approached, “May I see this token, my child?”

Elissa handed the coin to him, and stepped away, her back rigid, countenance calm and firm. Moments like these brought out the noble upbringing of the woman that Leliana, and likely anyone else who met her, often forgot.

“This is indeed from the paragon Caridin! Assembly, a paragon has spoken through this woman. Shield Anvil of Fener, to whom do you bestow this token?”

She waved in Harrowmont’s direction, “Per King Eredin’s final wish, Harrowmont shall receive it.”

The crowd erupted once more, arguments happening all around the room, until the man who held the coin bellowed, “ENOUGH! We have a token from a paragon. We shall take a vote.”

* * *

Their group was ushered into a small side wing while the vote was taken and tallied. Wynne watched Elissa carefully. She was standing tall and proud, but the past week or so in the Deep Roads had been trying for them all, and it seemed the Shield Anvil was taking the losses hard.

And even in the more supposedly civilized areas of Orzammar, she thought for sure a brawl might break out. It was a miracle that the vote occurred without further incident.

“The votes are in,” the council member spoke finally, “Harrowmont is the new king of Orzammar!”

Cheers and shouts of displeasure alike rang out in the hall, but the dwarf in question ascended the dais and was crowned all the same. 

And he was as good as his word.

“I owe this victory in part to the Order of the Grey. And as promised to them, Orzammar will send some of our best warriors and sappers to aid Ferelden against the Blight.”

Wynne didn’t imagine the sudden relaxed posture, the drop in the warden’s shoulders, at the news. Relief, at last. She approached the young woman and gripped her shoulder gently; she was granted a warm smile in return.

And in that moment, a terrible vision came to her.

A dragon’s wide, grinning fangs closing over Alistair, Elissa screaming, running, a flash of something, followed by destruction and a barren waste.

Wynne was not an oracle, not a woman who had dabbled in prophecy, but this felt like more than a dream, and the horror of what she had seen must have flashed on her features.

“Wynne? Are you alright?”

She shook her head slightly, “I…we should speak in private.”

Elissa, concern obvious on her features, simply nodded before grabbing Alistair’s elbow and asking him to take charge for a bit. She led Wynne down a side passage into a small alcove, “What is it?”

Decades of life, of navigating the politics at Kinloch Hold, and looking upon Elissa’s open and warm face, filled with concern, she found herself hesitant to say anything. Let them have this, she thought - whatever comfort they may find. But that was not in her nature, and if she warned them, then perhaps…

“I know that you and Alistair care for each other. I see the…doe-eyed look he gives you, especially when he thinks no one is looking. He is a fine lad, skilled in battle, but I sense he is less experienced with affairs of the heart, and I would hate to see him hurt.”

Elissa looked wounded, and her sudden resolve started to wither, “Do you think I would…?”

“Not intentionally, no! Of course not. But there is the potential for great tragedy there. For one or both of you.”

The Shield Anvil took a step back, as if she had struck her, but the damage was done, so she continued, “You are both in the order, and Alistair is the son of a king. You both have responsibilities that supersede your personal desires.”

The younger woman crossed her arms, “Alistair…doesn’t even want to be king.”

“That is true, but he is still a warden, and you the Shield Anvil of Fener. Love is ultimately selfish…and a warden cannot afford to be selfish. You…may be forced to make a choice. Between the person you love and fulfilling your duty. And then what would you do?”

Elissa shrank into herself, pulling away from Wynne, and she felt miserable. This wasn’t what she had hoped to say. She wanted to share her vision, to let Elissa know the potential danger…and instead she was shaming her for finding some small joy in these dark times. 

“I don’t want to have to make that choice,” she muttered, almost a whimper. 

“Nothing is certain, not in these times. You cannot take anything for granted. I want you to be aware of this.”

Elissa nodded slightly, “Right. Of course. Thank you.”

“Elissa,” she tried, “I only…“

She shook her head, “No. No. It’s…it’s fine.”

And with that, the Shield Anvil turned and walked back the way she had come, leaving Wynne wondering if she had done the right thing.

* * *

Elissa returned from her side conversation with Wynne, her lips drawn into a thin line, and Alistair knew, somehow, that it had something to do with him. Most notably the fact that she did her utmost to avoid looking at him. 

Had he done something wrong? Said something?

He looked to Wynne for an answer when she returned, but she had the same careful blankness to her features and stood some feet away. 

He was vaguely aware of the official matters playing out before them. He knew he should be more invested. He and Elissa were the only remaining Grey Wardens, and though she was the Shield Anvil, he was the senior of the two of them. But he found that it increasingly was just noise.

They had done what was asked of them and then some. The rest of these matters were details - important, no doubt, but ultimately things that would be likely to change in the coming weeks and months. As they had learned painfully, the most carefully laid plans could be made meaningless in a matter of moments.

He shook his head and tried to focus, but by the time he had talked himself off the metaphorical ledge, the assembly was breaking, Elissa taking the hand of the new king of Orzammar and thanking him with the same regal air with which she had made her announcement to back Harrowmont.

As the assembly began to disperse, she stretched and turned finally to her companions, himself included, and at least now she looked at him.

“We’ve accomplished what we came here to do. The gate is sealed, at least for now, hopefully stemming some of Chaos bleeding out. And we have a promise for warriors and sappers”

Pride bubbled in his chest, as she spoke. It was true. Despite the terrible way that their adventure had started, since this began, Elissa had guided them from one success to another. They were approaching the end of this crisis, he knew, and he finally felt confident that in this too she would succeed.

“I’d join, as well, if you’d have me,” Oghren spoke from behind him, voice still rough with grief, “Nothing for me here anyway.”

Elissa smiled at the dwarf, “Happy to have you, of course. Go gather your things, please, and meet us at the gates. I miss the fresh air.”

With that, their party split up, Leliana explaining that she wanted to visit the Shaperate to learn more about Lyrium. Wynne offered to join her, though she seemed far more interested in simply escaping the company than anything else. Sten excused himself to go seek supplies, heading in the same direction as Oghren. 

Alistair was pleased to have a moment alone. Mostly alone. He wasn’t sure that Shale or Rood bothered much to eavesdrop.

“Elissa. What…what did Wynne say?”

She gave him a sad sort of smile, indicated that they should leave with a nod of her head, and he dutifully fell in step with her.

He thought perhaps she would say nothing, as they walked in silence for some time, but finally she sighed, “She believes that at some point I will have to choose between you or the greater good, and that whatever it is between us is…not bad but, well, the word she used was ‘selfish.’”

He blinked as her words struck him. Or not her words, but Wynne’s.

“I…see.”

Elissa shook her head, “No. I…I was upset about it. At first. But Alistair, I don’t think I agree. Do you?”

He shook his head, “No.”

Relief washed over her features, and she nodded, “Ok. Ok, good.”

Another stretch of silence, as they walked through the vast entry hall of Orzammar, the statues of their paragons staring down at them. Only when they reached the door did she speak again, “Hood’s sweaty crack, I am ready to be out of here.”

* * *

Oghren’s hands were shaking, as the massive doors opened. Cold air blew in, sharp and…wild, somehow. It almost hurt to breathe it in. It prickled his skin, and he thought himself a nug or a Mabari, the way he just knew that there were smells in that gust that were completely foreign to him.

He slid his feet forward, more than stepping, really, hands out to his side to keep him steady.

The others were watching him, some with confused expressions.

It was just…big. Big wasn’t the right word, but by the stone, he didn’t know a word, well, big enough. 

It just kept going.

Trees - yes, he knew what they were, even if he hadn’t seen one before - marching on and on and on as far as he could see, and he could see _so far_. 

Worse than that was the sky. It was boundless. 

His heart was racing, and he realized that the guards at the door were waiting for him to step out fully. He shuffled forward a bit more and stopped, staring up at the never-ending nothing above him. 

He felt dizzy. A little sick.

He anticipated feeling light, drifting up off his feet and floating away into that great big empty. That didn’t happen, though, and he wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

Beside him, Elissa smiled, “Well, Oghren, what do you?”

He lowered his voice, not wishing to admit to the others, “I feel like I’m going to fall up there. Can we take a minute?”

She gazed at him a moment, then the sky, and he had a sinking feeling she would push them on, but she just squeezed his shoulder, “Take all the time you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K'Chain Che'Malle: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/K%27Chain_Che%27Malle
> 
> Sky keeps: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Skykeep


	29. At Camp 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and Alistair find they are unable to wait any longer, once back in the relative safety of the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first E chapter that is not E for gore...be warned! There is no plot here, so feel free to skip if smut is not your thing.

Alistair couldn't stop staring at Elissa. Since they had shared their first kiss in the Frostbacks, and the few stolen ones in Orzammar and the Deep Roads, he had thought of little else but her when they weren’t in the middle of battle or arguing with dwarves about their political choices.

They were finally back in camp, bolstered by numbers and very likely out of danger, and all he wanted to do was to touch her, to be near her. Seeing her in the Provings had been like torture; he had never wanted her so much as when she stood victorious, a warrior goddess standing tall in the midst of wild fanfare. All he could think was that he had kissed that woman, that she had been almost shy with him, but happy to press her soft lips against his.

He groaned slightly and tried not to watch her, as she spoke with Leliana and a representative from Kinloch at length about all that had transpired while they had been away. Then with Morrigan. Then with Zevran, who flirted shamelessly with her, and then she welcomed Oghren into the group, introduced him, and it was dark by the time she had stopped making the rounds.

He had been trying to distract himself, walking the perimeter in a half-hearted attempt to remain vigilant, as he had vowed. He was on the far side of camp, mostly in shadow, when she approached, catching him by surprise with her hands on his arms, “Alistair?”

He suppressed the full body jump that threatened and was able to settle for a sort of jolt, which had her laughing, and he would be angry except that she leaned against him, and he could feel her breath on the back of his neck.

“Do you have a moment?” she asked, and her tone had him nearly panting.

“Well we are in camp,” he responded in a bored tone, turning to actually face her now.

She gazed up at him, and he didn’t bother with any more formalities or jokes. He leaned down and kissed her properly, thoroughly, enjoying the way that her lips opened, her tongue greeted his. She made a soft little moan against his lips, and of their own accord his hands slid down to her hips and pulled her against him.

Damned armor. 

“I think you should come to my tent with me, Alistair,” she breathed against him, and he nodded stupidly for a moment before things became clearer.

“Oh, I…do you think that’s a good idea?”

She pulled back sharply, studied his features, “I’m sorry. I thought…perhaps I-”

He tipped her chin up with his forefinger and stared down at her, “I meant with everyone still milling about. Of course I want to join you, but I don’t want to assume that…you know. You’re our leader, and I guess after what Wynne said to you-”

“And I don’t care what they say, but if you’re concerned, we can wait.”

The word ‘wait’ sounded absurd to him. They _had_ waited. Had been waiting even before _that_ waiting. Was he completely daft? She had just asked him to join her in bed, and he was suggesting that they wait until the others had gone to sleep? No doubt they were already talking - there was no way Leliana, with her supposedly innocent interest in their private life together, hadn’t been telling everyone as soon as she was able, perhaps the moment she returned to camp finding someone to tell that she had seen them locking lips in the Deep Roads. 

“No, I don’t know why I even said that. I want to…I want _you_. What even was I thinking?”

Her smile was bright and a little teasing, and she tugged him back into her space for another deep kiss, which had him reeling, and as it turned out, they took their time getting back in the most delicious way, so when they did approach her tent, which he now saw she had set up a bit further out than usual, most everyone was otherwise engaged anyway.

They ducked through the flap, and as soon as they were out of sight, she was working at his armor, her fingers moving with the kind of expertise that only came from wearing her own, knowing intimately how each piece fit within the whole. There was a real perk to her being a fighter herself, and not just the things that he already appreciated about her. 

She had got him down to his gambeson before he realized that he had just been watching her movement dumbly, unable to move, instead mesmerized by her work. He shook himself out of it and stilled her hands with his own - he was ravenous himself, but he wanted to take his time, or at least put forth a true effort to do so.

To distract her, he kissed her again, trailing his hands down her neck to the shoulder clasps of her light leather chest armor. He had the advantage of knowing armor well, too, so he didn’t need to watch his work, as he unfastened its straps and felt it go loose against her. He tugged it away, pulled back long enough to pull the piece up and over her head. He admired the bright colored linens she always wore under her more sombre armor, and he had the chance now to savor it, taking up the hem that hung just over the tops of her breasts and running the smooth fabric between his fingers.

He chanced a glance up at her face and found her eyes heavy lidded and a lazy smile on her lips, and he had to kiss her again, flattening his palm against her chest to feel the swell of it. She arched into his touch, and he reveled in that. How was it he was here? In her tent? In her metaphorical bed?

It didn’t matter, he reminded himself; what mattered that he was, and he shouldn’t waste whatever time they could get.

He traced her shape through the silky blouse, hands running down her sides to grip her thighs and lift her. She laughed breathlessly in response, wrapping her legs around his waist, not loosening them, even when he set her down upon the small table she kept for meetings. He leaned over her until she was pressed back, elbows against the wood to hold her up just enough to meet him in another heated kiss.

His focus waned and sharpened all at once; so entranced with the sensation of soft, warm skin under his fingertips, he entirely missed the moment that his own shirt was tugged open, only aware of the change when the pads of Elissa’s fingers drew a line from his shoulders down his chest, his stomach, finally dipping teasingly under the waistband of his trousers.

He swallowed, head swimming.

Take your time, he thought, leaving a trail of wet kisses along her neck.

Somehow the message to his hands was instead take off her shirt because the next thing he knew, he was tugging the colorful fabric fully away from her, tossing it impatiently to the side, simultaneously pulling away her breast-band. 

Her laughter danced across his lips in response to stunned silence, even as his hands, still content to ignore his pleading to go slow, went about learning the shape and weight of her freed breasts.

He felt he was fighting a losing battle, his will brittle and worn against his desire.

“Elissa,” he managed to croak against her clavicle.

“Alistair.”

“Is…will this…I mean. Is this a one time thing?”

She pulled away slightly. Panic wound tight in his chest.

“Is that what you want?” 

He shook his head frantically, “No. It isn’t.”

Her smile was warm, “Good. Neither do I.”

It was enough to convince him to chase that burning feeling. He stepped back, still in the cage of her legs, but enough to untie his trousers and tug them down. 

More than enough was that, seeing his sudden fervor, she too began to finish disrobing, movement as erratic as his own. When they came together again, there was nothing further between them.

His thumb slid down, down between her legs to press against that button of pleasure that he had been taught about many years ago. In response to the pressure, Elissa dropped her head back, and he took the opening, grazing his teeth down the front of her neck, his other hand sliding around to her back to help support her weight.

Feeling bold now, no longer so concerned with taking his time, not if he’d have this chance again, he twisted his wrist enough to get a better angle, sliding fore and middle fingers further below his thumb to probe at her entrance.

They slid in slowly; he did take his time here, not wishing to rush her, at any rate. 

She didn’t seem to mind, if her soft pants were any indication, her nails digging into his biceps.

A faint taste of salt became more prevalent against her skin, the more pressure he added, the faster he circled her clit, the deeper his fingers pressed into her.

He pulled back from her neck to watch her, and his breath caught at the sight — head still back, mouth open, leaning back against the table, legs open.

“Elissa-”

“Yes. Yes, yes. Alistair. Please.”

She sat up just slightly, and he met her halfway, lips crashing against hers, tongue pressing into her mouth to taste her own, to draw her back into him. He was close enough to feel her arch into him, could feel the hardened peaks of her nipples brushing against his bare chest.

She pulled away from the kiss, a silent scream on her lips, as he felt her climax with his fingers.

“Please,” she whispered again, her own hand suddenly gripping him tightly.

He gasped at the touch, nodded blindly.

He did little else then. She guided him to her entrance, sliding closer to the edge of the table, making his entry that much easier.

The base of his spine tingled. He stared down at Elissa, frozen for just a moment. He had, in truth, rarely engaged in sex, finding that he had little interest usually. Those times that he had been interested, it had every time been with someone to whom he was particularly close. 

And he had never felt so close to anyone else as he did to the woman beneath him in this moment.

His frantic energy settled just as suddenly as it had flared, his movements slowing to a measured and purposeful tempo. 

Elissa stretched out beneath him, arching her back, even as she laid back fully against the table. He followed the movement with his hands, sliding his hands up from her thighs, to her hips, over her belly, pausing only for a moment at her breasts, gently up the curve of her throat, and finally to frame her face. She gazed up at him, watched his own approach until her eyes closed, and so did his, and they were kissing again, but slow and soft now.

He leaned fully over her, pressed against her skin, thrusts equally slow but deep. 

Time spun out around them.

It may have been five minutes or an hour or a day. It may have been forever, but that seemed unlikely because it did, eventually end.

Elissa’s back arched up against him again; it felt sudden, though of course it had been building. He swallowed her pleasured groans with his lips, just before his own body unwound the tension that it had been gathering.

He remained there for some time, breathing against her shoulder, wondering if she could feel his smile against her skin.

“Alistair?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re a bit heavy.”

He smiled wider and allowed more of his weight to settle down on her, delighting in her laughter that followed. She pushed against his arms, though there was almost no actual attempt to move him. 

He did eventually pull away, offering a hand to help her up. They cleaned themselves in a comfortable silence, broken only when he started to dress himself.

“Stay,” she gripped his wrist gently, her voice equally gentle.

He stared at her for a moment, that sensation of being far too lucky overcoming him just for a second, but he managed to nod.

Her hand slid from his wrist down to his hand, which she gripped, leading him to the bedroll and its plush, brightly colored blankets. She pulled the covers back, dropping down to her knees and tugging him down too.

Nothing more was said, even as they slid to prone positions. Wordlessly she rolled onto her side, back to him, and he curled around her, arm draped over her waist to pull her close against him.


	30. Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events begin to speed up, and Elissa takes the party to Denerim, where she will confront Loghain and prepare for the final battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NaNo is in full swing, of course, and I'm working on Part 2 of this, which is, of course, DA2. I thought about trying Awakening, but...aaaaah. Too much.
> 
> When I played DAO the first time, I had left a lot of things undone until just before the end of the game, so it felt so rushed. And thus here we are. Aaaaanyway. Hope everyone is healthy and safe.

There was little more Elissa could do on the front of the civil war. The mages of Kinloch hold had agreed to support her cause. Arl Eamon, popular among the nobles and uncle of the late King Cailan, had pledged to back her. The Dalish of the Brecillian forest had marched to where her camp outside of Redcliffe was, and they were waiting when she returned from Orzammar, who had sent warriors and sappers alike. 

The progress they had made buoyed her up the steps to Redcliffe castle, a small retinue with her - Alistair, who of course had known Arl Eamon most of his life, Wynne, as a representative of Kinloch, and Oghren on behalf of Orzammar, though that was admittedly a diplomatic risk. Regardless the time had come to request a Landsmeet and lead her newly formed alliance to Denerim.

The castle had been cleaned considerably since her last visit, a relief to all of her senses, though the air still felt scarred somehow. It wasn’t always possible to completely clear the horrific things that happened in a place; instead that horror would cling to the walls, the floors, permeating everything with a sense of unease. 

She suspected the Arl and his family would be more than ready to leave the place.

They entered the throne room to find the Arl, Arlessa, and Bann Teagan on the dais, each standing to greet them, Teagan with a flirting smile in her direction. 

“Shield Anvil,” Eamon descended the steps to where they stood, “I understand you have acquired all the allies you could. That’s good news. We can call the landsmeet, if you are ready? I would prefer not to give Loghain time to consider, but it is up to you. I do not wish to travel to Denerim without you.”

Elissa bowed her head, “We have been able to find allies against the Blight. It’s been a relief, and that is thanks in part to your own support. I have with me representatives of some of those that have agreed to support our cause, and unless they have reasons to delay, I am ready to call the Landsmeet.”

Wynne stepped forward, “The mages of Kinloch Hold stand ready.”

Oghren grunted, “Orzammar’s warriors are always ready for a fight.”

Elissa couldn’t help her smile, as she gestured, “It seems that we are indeed ready.”

Eamon gave a chuckling shake of his head, “It does at that. Excellent! I shall make all the arrangements. May the Lady be on our side.”

Elissa was loathe to leave such things to Oponn, but given all that they had done to prepare, it seemed likely that it would fall to a coin toss after all. She nodded once more, then turned to her companions, “If you would please announce our imminent departure. I suspect our larger forces will not need to move yet, but I’d like to keep delegates with us if possible.”

“If I may have a word before you leave?” the Arl stepped closer to where she and Alistair were standing.

“Of course.”

“Just you and Alistair.”

Elissa didn’t like the sound of that, and from Alistair’s face, he wasn’t terribly keen on it himself. Nevertheless she motioned for her other companions to return to camp and begin preparations. When they had left, the Arl led them into his study, inviting them to sit. They each declined.

Eamon frowned slightly but sat himself, “When I call the Landsmeet, while my backing Alistair will hold some weight, it will not be so strong as what your own voice might carry, Shield Anvil.”

Alistair spoke first, “I’m sorry, when you what now?”

Elissa held herself very still, eyes tracking between the two men, Eamon looking like a father explaining patiently to a child why they cannot eat only sweets, and Alistair on the verge of angrily storming out.

“Alistair, you are Maric’s only heir-”

“I am a bastard.”

“Of Maric. You are Cailan’s half brother.”

“I am a warden.”

“Be that as it may-”

“Why not you? You’re Cailan’s uncle! And the other nobles respect you.”

Eamon clicked his tongue and shook his head, “My wife is Orlesian, or have you forgotten? In which case perhaps you’ve also forgotten that Loghain rose to prominence after driving that very nation out of Ferelden.”

Alistair turned to Elissa, panicked, “Say something.”

She understood Eamon’s point, truth be told, but Alistair looked like a drowning man begging for a rope, and she couldn’t leave him there on his own, “Eamon, let’s take one thing at a time, please. Alistair clearly has no interest in ruling. Not only does it give me pause to push someone into something they do not choose, but I worry that putting an unwilling participant on the throne would in fact weaken Ferelden.”

Her second point, at least, had the Arl snapping his jaw shut, though he still shook his head.

Alistair’s relief was palpable.

“Denerim is two days’ march from here, assuming fair weather and clear roads. I suggest you consider what I’ve proposed on the way. We’ll leave at first light.”

With his final order, he stood from his chair and walked past them, back toward the hall and the stairs.

“Thank you,” Alistair muttered by her side, though he sounded defeated all the same.

With no audience, she was bold, taking his hand and squeezing it, “Of course. Let’s get back to camp, yes?”

At her sultry smile, his cheeks flushed, and he nodded, distracted at least for the time-being.

* * *

Leliana could not shake her feelings of disquiet. They were moving again, north to Denerim, all that they had worked toward now on the horizon, the end in sight, but something tugged at her mind, like a strange smell in a kitchen. It was there. _Something_ was there, but it was so faint, each time she tried to grasp it, it would flit away once more.

Per Elissa’s instructions, their forces were not marching with them. The warden did not wish to appear a conqueror — a good point, given the state of things, so instead it was their core group following on the heels of the Arl of Redcliffe.

It felt like years since they had herded frightened refugees into the tunnels beneath Lothering. There was a sort of peace on the road, with the Darkspawn still south of them, far enough away from Denerim that there were no patrols, and it would be nice if not for the fact that it was such a lie.

The cause of her unease became clear less than a day into their travels, as she, Elissa, Alistair, and Wynne were rounding a bend. It was the perfect site for an ambush, steep hills on either side that created a sort of funnel, and that was where the first arrows came whizzing past their ears.

Their team, despite the relative quiet of the travel, was always readied, so it was no time at all before they were launching their counterattack. Elissa melted into the shadows around them, while Alistair absorbed a charge from a dagger-wielding opponent. 

Wynne dropped to the back, shouting for Sten to catch up, and Rood sprinted past her, barreling through another attacker.

There was a small number, only four, and Leliana ignored all but one of them. She rushed past Alistair toward the archer, knowing that Elissa would be aiming for him. She arrived just as Elissa sprang from the shadows, blade plunging into his shoulder.

“Stop! Don’t kill him,” she tugged the woman’s arm before she could land the final strike.

Elissa rounded on her, “What? Why not?”

She gestured at the three that were down, and the man bleeding at their feet, “He is no common bandit. None of them were. Their weapons and armor are of fine make, and they are well trained.”

Confident that Elissa would understand, she knelt down, hand clamped over the bleeding wound on the man’s shoulder. He hissed, and she met his eye, “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Who are you?”

It seemed for a moment the man would not speak, but when she grasped him even harder, he sputtered, “Someone who…regrets taking you on. Was told it’d be an easy job,” he coughed, inhaled slowly, trying to back away to ease the pressure, “kill the little red-haired girl, do with the others as we pleased.”

She eased her grip somewhat, and he leaned back, breaths heavy, “Maybe we can work out some deal.”

“Speak quickly.”

The would-be assassin shook his head, eyes wary, as he looked over her shoulder; the others were approaching. He cleared his throat, “I’ve got no quarrel with you. Wasn’t me that wanted you dead, but I know how you can find the one who does.”

Leliana looked to Elissa who nodded, then spoke, “Your life for the information, then.”

The man nodded - fair price, indeed, “I have some directions written down on how to get to the house. It’s in Denerim. Here,” he muttered, hand digging under his breast plate to pull out wrinkled parchment, “It’s the best I can do.”

Leliana studied him a moment, then looked at the note. It was directions, as he said. She stood and stepped away, “Thank you. Now leave. I never want to see you again.”

It seemed the mercenary would not need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and moved away, facing them, keeping his eyes on them until he felt safe enough to turn, hand covering his wound. 

Elissa turned to their companions, “You know what to do,” before nodding for Leliana to accompany her away from the others.

Once they were far enough away, she spoke, “Orlais?”

Leliana shook her head, paused, nodded. She had hoped to not have to bring this up. She loathed her personal ventures being brought to light, shared with anyone other than her business partners. Though, as was evident now, even that did not always work out. She sighed, rubbed the bridge of her nose, “It’s Marjolaine. She’s…was…an associate.”

Elissa’s arched eyebrow was the only question she received.

“As you know, I was not raised in Lothering. I have travelled, and I have ties in many cities. Marjolaine was a business partner, for lack of a better term. She framed me some time ago, in Orlais-”

“That’s why you were in Lothering.”

Leliana scowled. It was an unpleasant thing, having been outwitted by the woman. She had let her guard down. She had fallen for the pretty face, and that was her downfall.

“Yes. And apparently it wasn’t enough for her to simply run me out of town. Of course I still have interests in Orlais, and of course that does not work for her.”

No doubt her explanations were falling short of all of Elissa’s questions, but surely they did not matter. What did matter was Marjolaine was here, and she had sent assassins after them. She couldn’t be serious about it, though, since none of them were trained to deal with mages. No…this had trap written all over it.

“I take it you want to follow those directions? Seems like a trap to me.”

Leliana couldn’t help her laughter. She nodded, “It most definitely is, and I still intend to pursue this. I, ah, I know things are delicate at the moment…”

“If we have time. I can’t promise anything, Leliana. Not so close to, well, everything.”

“I understand.”

But she already knew that Elissa would find a way to help her. 

* * *

After the ambush by Leliana’s would-be assassins, their party fell into a more regimental formation, Alistair and Sten at the front, Elissa close behind with Rood, Shale bringing up the rear with Zevran as her support, and the others in the middle. Oghren had assured them that he had enough powder to create a veil of smoke to obscure them if necessary.

Zevran very much doubted they would need it. Only a very foolish or very bad assassin would attack the whole party a second time. Once was a miscalculation, maybe bad intel. Twice was sheer stupidity.

And of course he was right. They encountered no further problems along the road.

At least until Denerim itself.

Really, he should have known they would send Taliesen. He had been coasting along on borrowed time, having been granted life by the warden who by all rights could (should?) have killed him after the attack. He had known the Crows would investigate, would not assume that one of their best had simply perished. 

Despite that, he felt a flash of surprise and then nervousness, as they turned the corner in one of the alleys, only to hear a familiar voice, “And so here is the mighty Grey Warden, at long last. The Crows send their greetings once again.”

To the Shield Anvil’s credit, she mostly looked annoyed.

He would not leave her to bandy words with his former comrade, so he pushed past the rest of their group, shaking his head, “So they sent you, Taliesen. Or did you volunteer?”

“I volunteered of course,” he took a step down from where he was, waving his hand, “when I heard the great Zevran had gone rogue, I had to see it for myself.”

Elissa glanced at him, eyebrow raised, and he shrugged, “Is that so? Well….here I am, in the flesh.”

“You can return with me Zevran. I know why you did this,” he punctuated his words with a pointed look at Elissa, eyes raking up and down her form, “and I don’t blame you.”

The sound of shifting armor was obviously Alistair.

“It’s not too late. Come back, and we’ll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake.”

“Of course Elissa would need to be dead first, right?” Her fellow warden spoke up behind them.

“And I’m not about to let that happen,” Zevran snapped, more at the man standing protectively behind Elissa than to Taliesen. He had travelled with them, fought alongside them, and still the man did not trust him.

Taliesen shook his head in disgust, “You’ve gone soft.”

Perhaps he was right, “I’m sorry old friend. But the answer is no. I’m not coming back. And you should have stayed in Antiva.”

His final words to someone he had known for years - a threat, as much as a warning.

But he knew, as well as Taliesen, that this was always going to end this way.

As Zevran had, he had brought backup, four more attackers coming out from behind the walls of the alley. 

When Zevran had attacked Elissa and her party, not only was it smaller, but it was not quite as battle-hardened. They had now fought together for months, and a unit of Crows rarely had the same consistent lineup. They would be efficient fighters, but they would not have the same cohesion of the Shield Anvil’s party.

It was clear enough when the fighting started, Alistair staying to Elissa’s right, Sten drirving a wedge through any opposing lines, with their sorcerers causing mayhem in whatever way they deemed necessary.

There was no contest.

Elissa hobbled the first assassin down the steps, while Alistair’s shield sent the second flying back into the first. Sten's spear lashed across one of their necks before tripping the final man, who met with the jaws of a Mabari.

Their explosive momentum gave him the opening he needed to approach Taliesen directly. He did not want to kill his former comrade, but he had friends now - real ones with no hand holding an invisible leash.

“She must have a magical pussy, for her to convince you to turn against us,” Taliesen sneered.

Such words did not bother Zevran. He doubted they would bother Elissa overly much. But of course the man had misjudged the situation, and his face fell slightly when Alistair came charging up the stairs toward him, bellowing his rage. He was an intimidating opponent, to be sure, standing over 6 feet, broad shoulders, donning full scale armor, and in his eyes was pure indignation.

“I could not say, dear Taliesen,” was all he got out before Alistair reached them. So those were his final words, then. Better, he thought.

Taliesen stepped back, recovered from his initial shock, a mocking smile on his face, as he deflected Alistair’s sword swing. 

Of course in the commotion, he had lost sight of his true target. She now stepped from the shadows behind him, her own short sword drawn. Her hand went to his shoulder, as the point ripped free from his chest.

At least he was spared having to do the job himself. He met Elissa’s eyes over Taliesen’s shoulder, as the life drained from him, and he hoped she saw his gratitude. She nodded.

“Are you safe now, then?” Alistair wondered.

He shook his head, “The Crows will always be after me, I’m afraid, friend.”

“Unless you get them first,” Sten’s voice carried from below.

Zevran chuckled, even as the idea settled somewhere to stay in his mind.

* * *

Perhaps the rest of their journey would be quiet, Alistair thought, as they finished the work of disposing of the bodies. First they had dealt with the repercussions of Leliana’s past, then Zevran’s had come out of the shadows to attack just the same. In other circumstances, he might wonder if Elissa brought bad luck with her, but the truth was simply that in times of war, one chose the allies available and fought the enemies provided.

Still they somehow managed to make it the rest of the way to Eamon’s estate without further interruption, ambushes, or attacks.

It was a large, stone building near the main market of Denerim, with the same plush accommodations of the Arl’s castle at Redcliffe. They entered through the tall, double doors of the entryway, and they were immediately shuffled into respective areas to bathe and change. He was grateful for the opportunity to wash away the grime and blood, though he opted to use the basin and a cloth as opposed to requesting a full bath. By the time he was clean he had a strong desire to go and speak with Eamon. He’d been worried about the man who had raised him, and even knowing that they had cured him, he had had limited interactions with the Arl. He wanted to talk to him, to fully absorb the fact that he was ok.

With the exception to changes in the dining room - a new table with nicer chairs - the estate was much as he remembered it from childhood. He had spent admittedly very little time here, but some memories were difficult to erase, and apparently the layout of this place was one.

Said memory led him unerringly to Eamon’s study, where the man was sitting at his desk, reading what looked like a stack of missives.

“Alistair,” he looked up, smiling warmly and gesturing to his side, as he stood.

The two embraced, and for the first time in a while, Alistair felt like there was some real hope of winning the political battle against Loghain. 

“I’m relieved to see you well, uncle. I was so worried.”

Eamon clapped him on the back before sitting once more, “I am still amazed myself at what your Shield Anvil was able to do. She’s rather capable. I…I am sorry. About the Order.”

Alistair sat heavily in one of the provided chairs, looking down at his hands, shaking his head, “It was…awful. I miss them terribly. They were, well, they were my family.”

“I understand. Though I am beyond relieved that you survived. Losing Cailan…” he shook his head as well, and silence fell between them for a moment.

“With you back to health, uncle, we are in a far better position. The other nobles trust you, and the people love you.”

Eamon chuckled slightly at that, “Perhaps. They love Loghain as well. But their opinion of me hardly matters. What you have been able to do, it will certainly go a long way in getting you the support you’ll need.”

A cold feeling ran down Alistair’s spine at his words. He swallowed, forcing himself to calm, “Support I’ll need for what, uncle?”

The Arl's eyebrow raised in half-question half-retort, “Alistair. You know what I mean. You are the only heir of the Theirin bloodline.”

He could feel the blood drain from his face, “I don’t…I’m a bastard, Eamon. You are Cailan’s uncle-”

“And you are his half brother. Alistair. Ferelden needs a ruler, if it is to survive the Blight.”

“I don’t want to be its ruler. Ferelden has a ruler, anyway. Anora-”

“She is being strong armed by her father. Do you believe that she has what it takes to lead us in the Blight? Over a Grey Warden, trained to fight the denizens of Omtose Phellack? Someone who has actually seen battle? If I go to the Landsmeet and suggest that Anora, though bright and certainly capable in many ways, is the right person to lead us to war, over Loghain? I will be laughed out of the chamber.”

“I-”

“No, Alistair. It must be you. It is your birthright. It is your duty.”

His mouth snapped shut. Was it his duty? He was a bastard, born of royalty and a servant - what duty did that bestow on him? He had also made a vow, pledged his service to Fener, to the Order. The Order that was crumbling and needed him as well.

His stomach twisted, soured. He stood, “I…if you’ll excuse me.”

* * *

Sten did not consider himself exceptionally curious, but when he heard the servants murmuring the name Loghain, a name he had heard only since meeting the Shield Anvil on the outskirts of Lothering, he followed behind.

Loghain had the broad shoulders and fierce look of someone who had seen battle, who knew exactly what it took to win a war. The shorter man with him, with the pinched face, instilled less confidence. 

He stuck to the shadows, staying out of sight, even as Alistair, storming out of the library nearly ran into the two men, Arl Eamon striding out purposefully a few moments later.

“Loghain,” the Arl began, “this is an honor, that the Regent would find time to greet me personally.”

“How could I not come meet a man so important as to call every lord of Ferelden away from his estate while a Blight claws at our land.”

Elissa appeared from the hallway, quickly scanning the situation, and it didn’t escape his notice that her eyes lingered on the smaller of the two men. Whoever it was had her clenching her fists, taking a steadying breath - all behind the men’s backs - before she strode directly, confidently up to the Arl’s side.

“The Blight is why I’m here,” Eamon explained, gesturing vaguely at the Shield Anvil and the other Grey Warden, “with Cailan dead, Ferelden must have a king to lead it against the Darkspawn.”

Loghain sneered, “Ferelden has a strong leader. Its queen. And I lead her armies.”

Elissa arched an eyebrow, “If Anora rules, let her speak for herself.”

This pulled the man’s attention to the Shield Anvil, and Sten was tempted to leave the shadows, “Ah, the Grey Warden recruit. I thought we might meet again. You have my sympathies on what happened to the Order. It is unfortunate that they chose to turn against Ferelden.”

She looked to Eamon, ignoring the statement, obvious bait, “When does the Landsmeet begin?”

Loghain barked a short laugh, “There is talk that your illness left you feeble, Eamon. Some worry that you may no longer be fit to advise Ferelden.”

“Illness? Why pretend you don’t know exactly what occurred? Not everyone at the Landsmeet will cast aside their loyalties so easily as you and these sycophants.”

“How long you’ve been gone from court, Eamon,” Loghain mocked, “Don’t you recognize Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine and Teyrn of Highever?”

Alistair’s eyes flicked to Elissa at the mention, but she showed no sign of breaking. Sten was once again justified in his choice to follow her; she was strong willed, and she would lead them to victory.

“And current Arl of Denerim, after Urien's unfortunate fate at Ostagar. Truly it is an embarrassment of riches.”

The man’s smile was as twisted and fevered as the smile of the chained one, Sten was certain. He could very well be a lizard, sunning himself on a pile of gold. It would be so easy for him to approach the man and snap his neck. But that was Elissa’s right.

Still, Howe was staring at her, that slime-covered smile growing broader each moment.

The Shield Anvil turned flat eyes on him, “That’s a lot of titles for one man.”

“Watch your tongue,” the woman standing to the other side of Loghain spoke, and it was the first time that Sten had really paid any attention to her. 

“Enough Cauthrien. This is neither the time nor the place,” the general chided before turning once more to Eamon, “I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened. Our king is dead. Our land is under siege. We must be united now, if we are to endure this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought tirelessly to see Ferelden restored. Would you see her work destroyed? You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the Blight with your selfish ambitions for the throne.”

It was, Sten had to admit, a pretty speech.

“If you truly want to save this land, then fight with us,” Elissa urged, meeting Loghain’s eyes.

“Cailan put his faith in the Grey Wardens, and look where that got him.”

Loghain, he noticed, did not keep Elissa’s gaze, as he spoke.

Eamon frowned, sighed, “I cannot forgive what you have done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can, but not I. Our people deserve a king of the+ Theirin bloodline.”

The color drained from Alistair’s face, and Elissa even looked surprised.

Eamon turned slightly, holding out his hand to gesture to the young man behind him, “Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this Blight.”

“Oh, is that all I have to do? No pressure.”

Fury washed over Loghain’s face.

“The emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down. Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is nothing I would not do for my homeland.”

With a subtle motion, he and the others turned, the general leading them out.

Silence settled, thick and heavy in the air, and Sten stepped from the shadows for the first time. Only Elissa seemed completely nonplussed by his appearance. 

Eamon turned, “Well that was bracing. I did not expect Loghain to show himself quite so soon.”

Sten grunted, “He seems formidable. Loghain. Not the other one.”

Elissa grinned slightly, and he knew he had done well.

“This is the seat of his power. He has had months to scheme and plan. We will need to work hard to undo whatever he has done.”

“Right,” Elissa sighed, looking down at her armor, “though if it’s alright, I’d like to bathe first. I hadn't had the chance yet.”

She turned to speak to Alistair, but the other warden simply walked past her. She cleared her throat and turned toward the hall, offering him a smile, “Sten. Hope you enjoyed the show.”

He bowed, “You showed great patience.”

“Ah, well, my victory will be all the sweeter later.”

“I shall not keep you. You are covered in gore.”

She looked down at her armor and frowned, “Indeed.”

And with that she, too, left his company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oponn: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Oponn


	31. The Destruction of House Howe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa gets her revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late for Dragon Age Day, but here we are! Been posting this for a year? Ah. I remember, fondly, the days or imagining a regular posting schedule.

Elissa declined the full bath that was offered, opting instead to wipe herself down at the small basin in her room. Her armor she similarly performed minimal cleaning for. The act was cathartic, allowed her a quiet moment to consider all that had happened over the past two days - the ambushes (two of them? How? Three if she counted Loghain appearing at the estate soon after they arrived), the near-public announcement that Eamon planned to place Alistair on the throne, even the strange behavior from Alistair.

They were close. But there was still work to be done, and she needed things to be normal between them. Maybe…maybe he was having second thoughts. Or perhaps he had never really been…but no, that was unfair to even think.

The thought wouldn’t leave her, though, so once she had wiped the grime away, she dressed in her house clothes, paced her room for a while, then worked up the nerve to go have the conversation they needed to have.

Alistair’s room was not far from hers, but it felt like an eternity before she found herself at his door, knocking what she hoped was a friendly, non-intrusive knock.

“Yes?”

“It’s, uh, well. It’s me.”

A pause.

“Come in.”

Elissa swallowed her discomfort and opened the door to find the man in question shirtless, armor put aside, as he toweled himself off.

“Oh, well, lucky me,” she murmured, walking in and shutting the door behind her.

Alistair laughed, his cheeks going pink at her obvious approval, “Yes, well.”

“Are you settling in ok?”

He looked around, sighed, “They changed the dining room.”

She breathed out a laugh, shook her head, “A tragedy.”

He smiled at that, a genuine one, and she felt that Alistair - her Alistair, not the heir with Theirin blood or the warden - was finally back, in the room with her. She approached him, and there were no walls. He pulled her against him, and she allowed herself a moment’s peace.

“How are you holding up?”

She sighed, “It was…difficult. To see Howe again.”

He squeezed her more tightly.

She inhaled slowly, trying to calm her heartbeat, “Alistair, I wanted to ask you something.”

She felt his lips against her temple, “Mmm. What do you need, my dear?”

Already she regretted asking the question, but it was best to get it over with, “Where…where do you see things going? Between us?”

He sighed, pulled away and shook his head, “I don’t know.”

Not an ideal start.

“Arl Eamon wants to make me king at the Landsmeet,” he practically groaned, stepping away and picking up his shirt, “I never ever wanted that, not in my wildest dreams.”

She nodded at that, knowing his feelings on the subject. She stepped closer to him, and while he didn’t move away, he didn’t pull her into his space like before.

“But I won’t refuse it, if it’s in the best interest of the nation, either.”

She knew that was the case. But neither of them had said it out loud before, and his saying it now was enough of a shock to them both that he approached her again, hands framing her face, as he gazed down at her, “I love you. You know that, right?”

She smiled and nodded at him.

He matched her smile, but it sobered quickly, and his hands slid away from her face, “But I have no idea what being king will mean for us. I'll have to think about that.”

“Alistair,” she breathed, “I love you, too. If we care about each other…that’s all that matters.”

“Is it?”

She blinked at that and stepped back, feeling stricken.

“What about duty? What about honor? Those things are important too, aren’t they?”

She felt herself nodding. They were important. She knew well how important they were, but what bearing did they have here?

“I hope they don’t come between us, but I can’t say that they won’t. I’m sorry.”

She had backed away all the way to the door now, still nodding, as if that were the only way she knew to communicate.

His own expression was pained, “This isn’t really the time for this conversation. Please, let’s just…talk about this another time.”

“Of course,” she assured him, “I didn’t mean to bombard you. I shall leave you to your, well, your evening.”

She opened the door without looking, then turned.

“Elissa-”

But she was in the hallway, and she couldn’t afford to look at him again. She waved over her shoulder, “Goodnight, Alistair,” and shut the door.

She moved quickly back down the hall, not wishing to linger, lest he open the door, and her resolve crumble. She focused on breathing and the task ahead. Plenty for a Shield Anvil to do.

For duty and honor both.

* * *

Leliana was proving to be much more than a mage, her agents in the city bringing word the following day about how the visiting nobles were leaning prior to the Landsmeet. Her report had included some potential ways to sway the remaining detractors.

“Thank you, Leliana. This is invaluable.”

The mage smiled, “Of course, Elissa.”

The Shield Anvil took the written notes and squeezed the other woman’s shoulder, “I’ll take this to Eamon now. No point in waiting, right?”

Their stay was short, but Elissa had grown up in a castle larger than this. She knew that there was often an order to things, so it was easy enough to find Eamon’s study. She wasn’t surprised to see Alistair within, but the elven woman was unexpected.

Eamon looked up when she entered, relief written plain on his features, just as Alistair looked panicked.

“Ah, Elissa!” the Arl spoke, stepping forward and gesturing to the woman, “This is Erlina, she is-”

The woman straightened, “I am Queen Anora’s handmaiden. I have come to ask for your help.”

Eamon dropped his hand, “Or perhaps the young lady prefers to speak for herself.”

Elissa arched an eyebrow, facing Erlina, “Why would Anora ask us for help?”

“The queen, she is in a difficult position. She loved her husband, no? And trusted her father to protect him. When he returns with no king and only dark rumors, what is she to think? She worries, no? But when she tries to speak with him, he does not answer. He tells her ‘not to trouble herself.’”

She cut her eyes to Eamon briefly, “Are you saying the queen believes Loghain killed Cailan?”

At the direct question, Erlina paused, “My queen suspects she cannot trust her father. And Loghain, he is very subtle, no? So she goes to Howe, who knows. A visit from the queen to the new Arl of Denerim is only a matter of courtesy. And she demands answers.”

“That’s crazy. Howe is a lunatic,” she scoffed, crossing her arms.

The handmaiden nodded, “He calls her every sort of name -- traitor being the kindest -- and locks her in a guest room.”

“Loghain would allow that?”

“King Cailan was like a son to him, and Loghain left him to die. Does he love Anora more? Who can say?”

She and Eamon shared a look again, as Erlina continued, “I think her life is in danger. I heard Howe say she would be a greater ally dead than alive. Especially if her death could be blamed on Arl Eamon.”

“Would Loghain _really_ kill his own daughter, just to frame Eamon?”

Eamon sighed and shrugged.

“We should expose his plot against Anora to the nobles.”

Erlina scoffed, “And who would tell them? Me? An elf, escaped from Oralais? What Ferelden noble would listen to me? Rescue my queen and I promise, she will reveal all...and at the time when it will hurt Loghain most.”

Elissa considered for a moment. It did seem they had more to gain by listening. She nodded, “So what do you propose we do?”

* * *

The borrowed uniforms left much to be desired, as Elissa, accompanied by Leliana, Wynne, and Alistair made their way around Howe’s new estate, led by Erlina. They were meant to be fitted, but Wynne’s hung loose on her, and Alistair had practically needed to grease himself to fit into his. Probably could have switched them out, she mused now, as Erlina made a distraction, allowing them to sneak through the servant’s entrance.

To say that things were awkward with Alistair was an embarrassing understatement. And Elissa saw the looks passing between Leliana and Wynne that made it clear the two of them noticed it, too.

It weighed on her, but more pressing was the fact that the handmaiden had advised that Howe was here. Rendon Howe was in this house.

They stood in the small storage room, waiting for Erlina to rejoin them. Elissa wondered how well she knew the layout of this estate. She would make do without, but speed and precision were what she needed here.

The door opened, “It is me,” and Erlina stepped through, “It took me forever to get rid of those guards.”

“Where are they holding Anora?”

The handmaiden slid past them to the interior door that would take them through the kitchens, “In one of the guest rooms, past the dining hall. Now your disguises…they will work with the servants; they do not care about the guards, you will all look the same. But the other guards, so long as you do not get too close or speak with them, we should be ok.”

Elissa bit her tongue. She and Alistair had been rogue order members for months now, and they had managed to keep themselves alive. In truth, she was simply on edge, and she was being unfair in her judgment, so she gave a perfunctory nod, “Thank you. Let’s move.”

Her group filed out of the storage room and into the kitchen, where Erlina, despite her assurance that the servants would not be an issue, went about distracting the kitchen staff.

Elissa led them to the dining room, pausing only briefly to count the number of guards within - at least a dozen, all of them eating or drinking. She kept to the side wall, eyes focused on the door at the far end that seemed to lead into a main hallway. None of those at the tables paid mind to them.

She was almost disappointed. She wondered if any of them had been there. She curled her hand into a fist, staring back into the room, until a hand on her shoulder pulled her back to the mission.

She looked back to find Wynne giving her a knowing look. She couldn’t help herself from glancing at Alistair, noticing the unsure expression on his face. Her resolve only deepened.

“Alright. We’ll split up. I’m going to search the dungeons. You stick with Erlina to see if she is still in the guest room.”

“Shield Anvil-”

“Elissa-”

She held up a hand, “If you find Anora, get her out. I’ll meet you back at Eamon’s estate.”

She did not give them the opportunity to stop her or delay her further. Saying nothing more, she turned and jogged down the hall.

* * *

Alistair watched the Shield Anvil disappear around a corner, mouth open and feet rooted to the spot, feeling for all the world like an absolute imbecile. Of course Elissa had planned to break away from the others; the man who slaughtered her family and now claimed dominion over her lands was here, in this very building. There was never a scenario in which she would let him slip from her grasp.

But perhaps there could have been a scenario in which he was by her side when she made her move.

Instead he had opened a chasm between them, chiseling out space from her in case he had to sit on the throne. And yet here they were freeing Anora, who he himself believed would be a better leader for Ferelden. It was a non-issue. Anora wanted the throne, and he wanted her to have the throne, and Elissa would back Anora if that’s what he wanted, and he had gone on spouting about the importance of duty and honor. To the Shield Anvil of Fener. To the woman who had, in the first week of being a representative of a god, stood at the top of a tower and embraced the grief of the entire Order company.

He wasn’t wrong, really. Duty and honor were important. But his unlikely bid for the throne was not part of that, not really.

He was pulled from his reverie, as their group came to a halt by a door halfway down the hall.

“Mistress?”

“Erlina? Is that you?”

“I have brought companions of the Shield Anvil.”

“Good news at last. But I’m afraid I have some bad news. They have put up a magical barricade.”

Leliana and Wynne shared a look, and Alistair glared at Erlina, “You said there were only guards?”

“When I left that was true! I did not know that they had done this.”

“Alistair, calm down. Let me see what I can do.”

He grunted and leaned out of the alcove to look down the hall, “Make it quick.”

* * *

In truth, Elissa highly doubted Anora would be in the dungeon. Howe was a despicable man, but he wasn’t stupid enough to throw his meal ticket’s daughter in with the common rabble. No, she might be a prisoner, but she was no doubt a prisoner of comfort.

But for what she had planned she had no need of the others. Nor did she have need of the guard armor, which she stripped out of in a quiet room near the stairwell that would take her down into the belly of the keep. Now in her darker light armor, she could move far more quickly and quietly from room to room.

She descended a level; it was cooler down here, and it was clear enough that these were the holding cells - a rather large dungeon, she mused, for a relatively small keep.

Doors were replaced with bars, and most of the rooms beyond were empty, though one had her stopping and backtracking to make sure she had seen right.

It was dark beyond the door, but the armor was unmistakable.

“In war,” she sounded, a question more than a statement.

The man within looked up, dark hair hanging loose and greasy around a face that would be handsome if not for the grime and bruising, “Victory,” he rasped before lunging toward the bars.

“In peace, vigilance,” they said in unison, and he reached a hand through, which she grasped.

“Sister warden,” the man breathed, “I am relieved to see you. I am Riordan.”

“Elissa.”

He studied her features, eyes going wide, “The Shield Anvil.”

“How did you get here?”

“Destriant Clarel received word from Duncan that a Shield Anvil had been chosen. And then no further word was sent. My company began the march from Orlais, and we were turned away at the border, told that our order betrayed the king. I was sent in to investigate. I am from Highever.”

She gripped his hand more tightly, “Then this is fortuitous. I am Elissa Cousland. Howe enacted a coup.”

“Then things here are worse than we knew.”

She freed her hand and pulled her lockpicking tools from the pouch on her hip. She began working the lock, “Myself and one other survived Ostagar. Alistair is above, helping to free the queen.”

The door swung open once the lock clicked open, and she stepped away to allow Riordan to pass, “Find him. He can help you get to Arl Eamon’s estate, and we can discuss our next steps. I have unfinished business here.”

Her fellow warden looked about to speak, but instead clasped her shoulder firmly before heading back the way she had come.

Elissa was alone in the shadows once more.

Her mother’s mother had been born in a foreign land, a place far to the west whose name was never spoken. She had fled during a civil war, from what Elissa understood, and members of her order were being hunted down.

Talons, they were called, a distant emperor’s personal bodyguard and assassination squad. And before her, her own mother had been a member of a precursor to even that organization, but they had both passed down the same thing, the Shadow Dance.

Halfway down the corridor, she came across the first guard. She had left her long sword behind, opting instead to keep her daggers and darts on hand. She pulled one of the former free, its blade rubbed in a kohl mixture to avoid catching light, and she started her dance.

Shadows wrapped around her, as she spun behind her victim, arm wrapping around and sliding the blade across the guard’s neck. She kept her tempo moving forward, the steps of this murderous waltz memorized in her very bones.

There was no point counting. These were the dungeons, after all, and so guards were set at regular intervals. She did not care to rush to find Howe. His army had wiped out the castle; she would do the same.

The blood she spilled sang to her, a chant to accompany the beat of her steps, silent though they were. There was no malice in her cuts. They were direct and efficient. No, her spite she held back, letting the poison fester in her chest until she could spit it back at Howe.

Her wait was not long. While sizable, the dungeon was not infinite. Two levels down from the main floor, down the main corridor that turned sharply to the left, and she stood before a heavy wooden door, behind which she could hear voices.

There was no time for a deep breath or second guessing. The dance would continue until she was done.

She pushed through the door.

* * *

The sound of heavy armor and boots against stone resonated from down the hall. Alistair ducked into the alcove, “Leliana-”

“Do you wish to try your hand at this?”

He snapped his mouth shut, but doing so wouldn’t stop the guard from rounding that corner and finding them.

Erlina straightened her skirt, “I’ll distract them. Please work quickly.”

With that, the elven woman strode into the hallway. Alistair wanted desperately to lean out and see what she had planned, but it would be ill advised, he knew. He instead stepped back, closer to the door, shield loose and ready.

“Oh, good. You there! Please, I saw someone suspicious loitering around my lady’s room. They ran when I came around.”

“What did they look like?”

“A young woman, I think. It was difficult to tell, but she went that way! Please! My lady is unharmed, but we must act quickly.”

The sound of the armor began to recede, the pace much quicker than it was before. And in the direction that Elissa had gone. Alistair’s gut twisted; would they find her?

He had little time to consider what might happen, however. Behind him Leliana gave a triumphant shout, though quieter than she might have normally given.

The door latch clicked, and the door opened to a plush room with fine furnishings and an angry queen.

“You did it. And now we have to move - we haven’t much time.”

Anora was dressed as a guard, but it was clear enough who she was. She gave a startled look to Alistair.

“I’m Alistair, a warden with the Order of the Grey. Your handmaiden brought us here to rescue you.”

“I see,” she said slowly, seemingly unable to decide if she should look at him or not, “you have my gratitude. But we must leave as soon as possible.”

“Why are you dressed like that?”

It was a stupid question, and Anora’s face only served to remind him of that fact, “I cannot bloody go around in my normal attire. I was locked up here. I need to _sneak_ away.”

Alistair cleared his throat. He wasn’t terribly fond of Anora in the moment, but nevertheless, she was correct.

“Erlina has drawn off the guard,” Leliana reminded them, “so we should take this opportunity.”

“Elissa-”

Wynne grasped his forearm, “Asked us to get Anora out of here. We should do as she has asked.”

He looked at the Priest of Fener, and the memory of what Elissa had told him about their chat came back to him. She had said that they might have to choose the needs of Ferelden over one another; perhaps she had been right, though at the time, he had been so angry at the prospect. And yet had he not said exactly that to Elissa just hours ago?

His gut twisted again.

“Right. Let’s go while we can, then.”

* * *

Elissa had the element of surprise. She was not an army marching through the halls of his keep, and so her slaughter was silent and unnoticed. The sound of the door opening was the only warning they received.

Howe turned at the noise. His two guards were facing the door silently, and a third man in the robes of the Order of D’rek was also within.

They all stilled.

“If it isn’t Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire,” Howe sneered, “All grown up and still playing at being a man, I see.”

Elissa had no words for a traitor and spineless creature such as Rendon Howe. Her dance continued, a dart to one guard’s neck, as she approached the second with dagger in hand, and his blood joined the rest that coated her.

Perhaps the shadows had made it unclear, but as she came into the light, the smug look on Howe’s face crumpled.

The other man, the priest, stared at her. It was moments before she could feel him attempting to open his warren. But she had prepared.

Otataral was new to her but not to Wynne, and she had made it a point to learn of its unique properties when it was shared that it could be the key to defeating the Eleint leading the Chained One’s army of twisted Omtose denizens. It was anathema to magic of the warrens, and it was used in some lands by assassins looking to stem the power of mages.

When sheathed properly, she could still make use of Meanas, but she had no need of the warren now.

Perhaps this man also knew of Otataral. Perhaps that was why he stared with wide eyes at the blade in her hand. Or perhaps he simply realized belatedly he was unable to access his warren and what was about to happen.

Whatever he might have said ended in a wet gurgle.

Only Howe left. She slowed her steps, allowing the Shadow Dance to end.

If he was afraid, he was careful not to show it, speaking through a clenched jaw, “I thought Loghain made it clear that your pathetic family is gone and forgotten. Your parents died on their knees,” his voice rose, as he spoke, taking steps toward her, taking strength in his cruelty, “your brother’s corpse rots at Ostagar, and his brat was burned on a scrap heap, along with his Antivan whore of a wife.”

So he was also ill informed of Fergus’s return to Highever, she noted with some pleasure. It was cold comfort, but she would take what she could.

“And what’s left?” he closed the distance, making to circle her, perhaps to get to the door, but she maneuvered to block his path, “A fool husk of a daughter, likely to die nameless on some battlefield.”

Seemed he also did not know of her status. And he called her a fool.

“Even the wardens are gone. You’re the last of _nothing_. This is pointless! You’ve _lost_.”

She arched an eyebrow. Her silence only served to rile him further. With a bellow, he unsheathed his sword and charged.

Elissa was surprised at how calm she felt. This man - this sniveling bastard - had destroyed everything in her life. She should be shaking with rage. But she felt nothing; smooth, polished glass surrounded her soul, allowing whatever vitriol he cast her way to break against it.

His attack was sloppy. Personal. Easily deflected.

As was the next.

She could drag it out. She could play with him, allow him to believe he had the upper hand, that all of his schemes would come to fruition. But she was not Rendon Howe.

She sheathed her Otataral blade, reached out for the shadows. They came to her easily, old friends taking her hand, wrapping themselves around her, armor against any kind of damage. She stepped through them, melted into them, and reemerged, cast in darkness, behind him.

“What is this? Face me like a true warrior. Like your father would have!”

His words might have been funny at another time. Of course he didn’t know Eleanor, didn’t know her family history.

She had no interest in being a warrior. She did not have to stoop to Howe’s level of debauchery, but neither did he earn the right to be treated as an equal.

It took no more effort than any other blow. A few pounds of pressure, aimed appropriately, was all it took.

The shadows dispersed, as Howe slid off the end of her dagger. It snagged on a rib, but his weight brought him the rest of the way down.

He sank to his knees into a growing puddle of his own blood, and the image looked an awful lot like poetic justice.

Howe gazed down at his blood, disbelief turning to rage. He opened his mouth to speak, though only foaming red came up until he managed to gasp out, “Hood spit on you. I…deserved more.”

His words ended in a gurgle.

It was done.

* * *

Silence, deep and heavy, sank over the blood-spattered carnage of the dungeons of the Arl of Denerim’s estate. Not so much as a rat dared dart its way through the gore left behind by the wrath of Fener’s Shield Anvil, yet the shadow cast by the flickering lanterns seemed to shift and dance more than usual.

A booted foot stepped silently onto the slick stone, the rest of the man following behind it, emerging from the gray-black of the shade on the wall. He was hooded, wrapped in form-fitted black leather armor, a rope wrapped loosely over one shoulder. 

“Pity we missed our chance,” he murmured, kneeling to investigate one of the corpses, a guard killed by two neat, precise strikes that bled him out.

“We may yet have another,” another voice answered, this one more high-pitched, raspy. 

“I don’t believe Fener will let this one go.”

“Do you not trust me, old friend?”

The hooded figure barked a laugh but did not reply. After a moment of study, he shook his head once more, “I suppose time will tell.”


	32. Escaping a dungeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and Alistair, despite some awkwardness, work together to escape Fort Drakon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just ticking down now. Honestly, I have GOT to finish posting this before the end of the year. Silly not to. I have a chunk of part 2, but it's...not done. And I think I've learned my lesson maybe? Finish that sucker before posting it. Maybe.
> 
> You might notice there are details from this particular level missing...that was really just because I combined them, and it felt like a LOT to have the full bits of both paths.

“We’re very nearly there,” Alistair muttered, glancing around the corner at the double doors that would lead them out and the guards surrounding that exit. 

Anora, like he and the others who had arrived with Elissa, was dressed in the armor of the guard; he could only hope it would be enough.

He strode through the door first, and any hope he had mustered fell away, as Cauthrien, Loghain’s red right hand, came into view. Her subtle, smug smirk in his own direction didn’t go unnoticed, either. It seemed his disguise was no longer useful.

“Warden. In the name of the regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men-at-arms,” she announced, motioning for the armored men surrounding the doors to step forward. 

Elissa did it was his first thought.

How do they know she did it was his second.

His third question, at least, was answered, as the guards parted to let two of their number through, dragging a limp figure between them. His heart leapt into his throat, choking him. Cauthrien stared him down.

“Surrender now, and we may show mercy.”

It was definitely Elissa. He didn’t _need_ to see the details to know, but they were there all the same. Panic swelled, a rushing in his ears that he could not quell, as he stared at her, trying to determine if she was breathing. There was the smallest expansion of her chest, and he knew that she at least lived.

“We’re here to free Anora, who was held captive,” he blurted, words pushed out of his mouth by both relief and the need to have them let her go.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The queen isn’t being held prisoner here or anywhere else. Her father would never stand for such a thing.”

“She’s right here! Tell her Anora,” he pleaded, turning to look at the queen over his shoulder.

“Sir Cauthrien!” came the answer from behind him, “Praise the Maker you’re here. This brigand tried to kidnap me!”

Anora rushed past him, moving toward the guards.

“What?” Alistair stared at the queen, white hot rage burning in his chest. 

“Unbelievable,” Cauthrien practically spat, “bring them down! Loghain wants the wardens dead or alive!”

He started to draw his sword, but one of the guards holding Elissa drew theirs first, holding it close to the Shield Anvil’s throat. He froze, hand hovering, as he calculated his chances.

“Your Majesty, you should leave,” Cauthrien nodded toward the door.

“Yes, of course,” Anora breathed, motioning to Leliana and Wynne, “come, let’s get out of here.”

His calculations stopped, as his companions followed along with Anora. Neither looked back, each of them holding one of Anora’s arms, as if comforting her. 

He understood, then. He would go with Elissa, to ensure that she was ok. They would return to Eamon. Or at least he hoped. There was no going back now.

He raised his hands in surrender, just before everything went black.

* * *

“Eamon! I may have done a terrible thing.”

Zevran followed the stranger who had returned with some of his companions through the house and into the Arl’s study. He had wondered at Elissa and Alistair’s absence, and now cold dread seeped into him.

“May have? How can there be any doubt?” Leliana sneered.

“The wardens have been captured.”

Eamon stood from his desk, moving swiftly around it at the news.

“By Sir Cauthrien, to whom our lady here handed us all on a silver platter.”

Zevran glared at the queen, “What do you mean captured? How?”

Anora’s chin raised a fraction, and that was signal enough for the assassin. Elissa had gone in to help rescue her, and in turn she was thrown into some prison. His dagger was in his hand, and he was halfway to her before Sten and one of Eamon’s heavy guards were pulling him back, “Never mind that. The question is how to free them.”

“Someone tell me why I should not slit this woman’s throat? I have not heard a compelling reason yet.”

Despite her calm visage, Zevran saw the fear in the queen’s eyes, and that gave him some small comfort.

“It was a distraction. They could not know that I know--”

“Please, your highness, dig your grave deeper. Do not think you’d be the first sovereign I’ve killed.”

The Edur warrior had dragged him further away, but he could practically feel her blood on his hands, see the final breath escaping her throat. 

“Cauthrien will have taken them to Fort Drakon. Getting inside will be no small feat."

He was unfamiliar with Fort Drakon, but that hardly mattered -- all he needed to know was that it was a prison. It was the principle of the thing, really. 

“We need a plan,” Leliana spoke over the rising roar in Zevran’s ears, and his training took over. 

“What do we know of this fortress, then? How do we get in?”

He pointedly refused to look at Anora, instead casting his eyes on Leliana and Arl Eamon in turn.

“It will not be easy,” Eamon mused, shuffling through the parchment spread on top of his desk, “and breaking in is not an option.”

Zevran scoffed, crossed his arms, “There is not a lock that I cannot pick.”

The Arl barely spared him a glance, “Be that as it may, it would be quicker to get in legitimately.” And he held up a parchment, presumably what he was looking for, “Yes, here. This is a writ promising winter supplies. It will get you through the gate. What you do from there is up to you.”

Zevran met Leliana’s gaze across the group, and his smile matched hers. 

* * *

The darkness bled away slowly, but still Elissa felt as though she were suddenly awake. She sat up, gasping a surprised breath, and looking around in an immediate fight or flight response. The guards. It became clear very quickly that they had succeeded in knocking her out.

The first thing she noticed was the barred door. The second was Alistair, stripped to his underwear, leaning against the wall.

When her eyes landed on him, he sat up straighter, pushing away from the wall, “You’re awake.”

She nodded, sitting up.

“I was…worried you might not, for a bit there,” he breathed.

Elissa cleared her throat and looked away from him, as she stood, “I’ve never seen a prison from this side before. Very scenic.”

Behind her, Alistair chuckled, “Join the Order of the Grey! See the sites and walls of the best prisons of the land. Not much of a recruitment slogan is it?”

She shrugged, “Let’s see what we’re working with here.”

“Uhh I’m not sure. We were dropped in here, and the door is locked.”

She couldn’t help giving him an incredulous look over her shoulder at that. He had seen her pick locks before. Surely he knew that that wasn’t a major roadblock for her. 

Like him, she had been stripped to her underthings, but her foremothers were assassins and shadow dancers, and Elissa would only be caught without tools if she were dead. She was not dead yet, and so she would get out of this cell.

Things were easier with her back to him. 

She hated how defensive she felt, how exposed. Working the lock, her memory sprang back, searing and vivid. She remembered wandering the dungeons, freeing a prisoner, leaving another. She remembered making her way back up the stairs, armor, blades, and skin slick with blood. She remembered seeing Alistair in the hallway ahead of her, remembered stopping short, remembered that her hesitation caused her to lose her concentration, and it was only seconds before the guards had taken her down after that.

And now here she was.

She inhaled slowly, forced herself to focus, to remain calm. She had one shot at this.

The final tumbler was in place. She twisted slightly and - ah, yes! There. She caught the gate before it could swing open, potentially making sound or drawing attention.

She nodded over her shoulder at Alistair, who stood, “Is it…you opened it?”

“We’ll need armor,” was the best answer she could offer him in the moment.

Elissa inhaled slowly, pressing the door open as quietly as she could manage, peering out into the hallway beyond. She was surprised to find no guards, given they had been arrested under the pretense of kidnapping the queen. Of course it was all a farce anyway.

A wave of heat against her back was the only indication she had that Alistair had approached behind her. 

She held up a finger by her face then to herself and the hallway. He nodded. 

Another inhale, and she slid into the shadows against the wall, creeping silently down the hallway. She counted the doors, listened at a few of them, and finally she found what she had been looking for.

It was a short time before she returned to the cell where they had woken, slipping inside before dropping the small cover from the shadows.

“Alright,” she breathed, keeping her voice low, “I can get us some weapons. We’ll have to move quietly, but I think I know how to get to the armory.”

“Elissa, we can’t fight our way out of here.”

She stared at him - did he truly think that would be her approach? At her silent look, his shoulders dropped, “Of course that's not what you have planned.”

“No, I do not plan to fight our way out. Rather I want to find guard armor and simply walk out.”

Their conversation felt stiff, and she hated the clenching feeling in her chest. She cleared her throat, hoping to loosen the feeling, but it did little to relieve the pressure under her ribs, “Right. Let’s get moving.”

* * *

Leliana cut her eyes to her side. Zevran would be vibrating with energy if they weren’t moving, she felt sure.

“We’ll get them out,” she tried to reassure him.

He nodded, flashing a smile more vicious than warm, “Oh, I have no doubt of that, my dear.”

Their conversation stopped short, as they approached the gate, and she straightened, opening the flap of her messenger bag, pulling out the parchment to show to the guard at the metal structure, “We’re here to discuss winter supplies with your commander.”

The guard stepped forward and took the parchment, his comportment somewhere between bored and annoyed. After a few seconds of scanning, he gave a nodding shrug, followed by a wave for the gate to be opened. 

Moments later they were striding up a wide and shallow staircase to the main floor of the fortress. Eamon was right; breaking in would have been a mistake - there were too many variables that she could see, even from here. Given Zevran’s silence, she thought he might be realizing the same thing.

Their footsteps echoed lowly in the main chamber, as they strode through to another set of guards, these before a large double door, presumably leading into the main part of the fortress.

“Help you?” 

Zevran motioned toward her, “We come with some official notice regarding supplies. We need to see your commander.”

Leliana retrieved the parchment once more, holding it out for inspection.

“Right, well, I’ll see to it the commander receives this.”

“I do apologize, sir, but we have strict orders to place it directly into their hands.”

The guard stared at them silently for a few seconds; Leliana stood as still as she could, pulling the parchment back to her chest.

“Fine. Wait here.”

Zevran cast her a look, and she only hoped that she could keep him distracted long enough to keep him from attacking these men. 

She didn’t understand. Or rather she did, but she would have thought the assassin more in control of himself. It was clear enough that he harbored more than friendly feelings for the Shield Anvil. It was also exceptionally clear that she had eyes only for her fellow warden. Still Zevran’s eyes were lit with that special kind of anger, reserved for defending a loved one.

There was little she’d be able to do to keep him from going in, if they tried to stop them.

* * *

“Elissa.”

Alistair caught her elbow before she left the cell again.

She turned to looked up at him, and he stared at her, trying to find the words. They should be easy enough, he figured, but it seemed his throat had constricted with them all. He didn’t think he imagined how her eyes softened, even just slightly, at his mouth opening and closing again, not unlike a fish, he assumed.

“Alistair,” she huffed, “we need to get out of here. Regardless of…” she trailed off and squeezed her eyes shut.

He waited for her to finish. He wanted to explain that he had been wrong, that he understood now how ridiculous his words had been. He also respected her, and he recognized that this probably wasn't the place.

She sighed, “Regardless of anything else, we have to do that. So let’s find some armor, and let’s look for Wynne and Leliana-”

“Oh, no, they aren’t here.”

Elissa’s look was suddenly less warm and more sharp, “What?”

Too many ways that can be interpreted, Alistair, he scolded himself. “They only took me. Wynne and Leliana were allowed to leave. Anora….”

The Shield Anvil’s grip tightened on his arm, and he only then realized that she was touching him.

“She pled with Cauthrien to let them go.”

He was learning just how expressive Elissa could be without speaking, as her features narrowed, and a creeping cold swept over him. He had a sudden flash of what must have happened in those dungeons. When he clarified that they had not been captured nor killed, relief replaced the pointed and fierce anger in a blink.

Her hand dropped from his arm, and she nodded, “Then let’s get moving.”

And with that, she led them out of the cell and into a dimly lit stone hallway. With her left hand on the wall, she slipped into the shadows, and he followed. 

“I don’t think we’ll find our own possessions so close to where they kept us, so we shall have to make do with whatever we find.”

He took stock of their position. The hallway they were slowly creeping down seemed to hold only more cells like theirs, but they were heading steadily toward a large wooden door at the end. It seemed strange that there were no guards, though if that were truly the case, it meant that they were behind that very door, and somehow Elissa was planning for them to go through, find whatever supplies they may come across, and fight their way out of Fort Drakon, a famously impenetrable fortress. Or at least partially through, he reminded himself.

Then again, she had taken them this far, and he would follow her to the very end, no matter the cost. 

* * *

They did not have a long wait, but whatever minutes it took felt like the longest of Zevran’s life. He knew how he must appear to Leliana; even he was disappointed in himself for his tunnel vision when it came to Elissa. He felt sure that it was his own tension giving the guards pause, no longer confident that he was able to affect the nonchalant and calm air that he was aiming for.

But he was still a professional, and despite his impatience, he did not tap his toe or fingers.

And they were ultimately let in to see the captain.

The plan was sound so far; they need only find the two prisoners, then determine a way to sneak them back out. Truth be told, he suspected any real threat to the plan would be the two inside the gates; he highly doubted Elissa, or even Alistair, would sit patiently in wait for the so-called cavalry. 

No alarms clanged loudly to announce the disappearance of any prisoners, but he could not shake the feeling that at any moment they could begin. 

* * *

Despite the hurt of his words when last they were alone, there was certainly a comfort that came with having Alistair with her. Even without a shield and sword, she knew he was a formidable warrior, and honor or duty aside, she knew he would still stand firmly at her side to ensure she took no blows that were unnecessary.

She shook her head to clear those thoughts, though. This was not the time to think about what was or was not between them, what would be between them at the end of all of this. 

They had reached the large, likely reinforced door at the end of the hallway that they had traversed.

She held up a hand to stop Alistair’s progress and pointed to the other side of the door. He nodded once and made his way across the hall, silent on his bare feet, to the opposite side. 

Pressing her ear against the wood, she closed her eyes, concentrating. There was shuffling on the other side, but the sound was far too muffled to make out anything truly useful. She opened her eyes and shrugged.

Alistair’s only response was a nearly boyish grin, and she couldn’t help but reflect it back to him. He nodded, and she moved to the center of the door, hand wrapped around the heavy iron handle. She felt a tap on her shoulder, followed in a cadence by a second, and a third, and she tugged the door open.

“What-?”

Sound drifted through the opening now - a voice, a chair scraping, another one. She guessed two at the very least. Medium to heavy armor. The best she could hope for was that they were lax in wearing their helms.

It was only seconds before the first one appeared in the gap she had left. Half plate and no helm - seemed perhaps the Lady’s Pull was hers today. She grabbed the collar of the man’s armor, pushing him back then pulling him hard into the corner of the door. His brow split, and he started to stumble. 

Alistair took his cue, sliding past her and dragging the man to the ground, fist making contact with the already broken nose of the guard’s face. 

She lept over him into the next room, sprinting across the small space to grapple the second guard who was rushing to the opposite door, likely to sound an alarm. It was a close call, the guard’s hand reaching out for the handle just as she barreled into them. She and the other person fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Despite the element of surprise, it was not a fight in her favor. She was built for speed - in and out - not prolonged matches on a dusty stone floor, and it didn’t take long for her to be pinned, doing her absolute best to cover her head, as her opponent began to rain blows down upon her.

In the space of a breath, the weight on her torso was gone, and she uncovered her face to see Alistair gripping the second guard and bodily removing them from her. His knuckles were raw, she noticed, the blood stark against the white, as he tightened his fingers around the straps of the guard’s armor. He held the man in place for a second, enough time to curl his right hand into a fist and bring it crashing against the guard’s head.

Only their breathing filled the room for a moment, and Elissa shook her head, “Shouldn’t be that easy. We should get their armor-”

Alistair offered her a hand, which she took. He lifted her easily from the floor, his tug strong enough to send her barreling into his chest.

His chest was rising in sharp, panting gasps, “Are you alright?”

She nodded, found she could not speak.

She had no need to when he pulled her tight against him, kissing her fiercely. It was a short, hard kiss, but she understood it to be an apology, as much as gratitude for her safety. He pulled away and met her eyes, his own burning with things she could not name, before turning back to the guard on the floor.

It only took a few minutes to don the armor; ensuring the two guards would be unable to alert any others took longer. They ultimately dragged the two into their now unlocked and opened cell, not wishing more than to slow them down.

And so disguised, they continued their journey through the prison.

* * *

Colonel Tarsh was a busy man, managing the recruits for the guard of the largest fort in all of Ferelden. He had little time to devote to those coming in, but two of the four standing before him at least seemed promising.

“You,” he pointed at the tall, broad blond man, “what is the most important thing a soldier should have?”

It did not escape him that the man looked to the woman that stood to his right before answering, “Discipline, sir.”

“Seems there is hope for you yet. Alright. I haven’t time all day - the four of you should already be on your way out to patrol. Get a move on!”

The foursome turned and began to file out. It was only when they were out the door that he thought to ask after the two that seemed promising - should get their names.

But the day was busy, and before even an hour has passed, he had forgotten about them already.

* * *

The prison was a maze, and Zevran was beginning to believe it was truly a hopeless cause, finding them. He resolved, however, to spend as much time as was needed to find the Shield Anvil. 

He repeated the way here in his mind - 30 steps in the first long hall, through a door, to the right, another hall only 18 steps, another right, 9 steps, a left. It was clear enough that the guards here knew these paths from rote memorization alone. It seemed likely that the first days of training were reserved explicitly for finding one's way through the fortress.

Their current guide, a rather lovely woman who was most definitely not paid enough, seemed almost bored with the labyrinthine passages.

They met with the captain. Met was a strong word.

“We have a missive from Arl Eamon of Redcliffe.”

“I’ll take that. Yes, this all seems to be in order. Thank you.”

And they were dismissed. 

He shared a look with Leliana - they would need to abandon their guide or come up with some other plan. And quickly.

They made to say their goodbyes, and the captain leaned slightly to look beyond them, “Have a good patrol.”

It was chance alone that had Zevran turning, truly. He was preoccupied; he would tell others that it was his tactical planning that caused him to look over his shoulder, counting the number of foes, of course. In fact he was only trying to formulate his next plan.

And he needn’t have thought long, since when he turned to see those whom the captain was addressing, he recognized the face beneath one of the helms. 

“We shall leave you, then, sir,” he offered, feeling rushed now.

Surely Elissa had recognized them as well, he reminded himself, even as Leliana gave him a strange look.

“Shall we simply exit with your patrol?”

The captain waved at him in answer, clearly waiting for them to leave, so he could continue with his day.

Zevran had many questions, but they could wait. For now he was simply relieved. 

Leliana caught on quickly, falling in step with him to follow the guards - two of whom they knew rather well - out the door. The two actual soldiers broke off once they were outside in the light of the sun, Alistair explaining that he and Elissa would see the two visitors to the gate.

No suspicion was laid upon them, and somehow, miraculously, they walked through the gate and onto the street, arriving a short while later back at Eamon’s estate.


	33. Allying with Anora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and Alistair come to an agreement, and the crew investigate the goings-on in the alienage at Anora's behest, to find some way of undermining Loghain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so...it's 2021. I just keep forgetting to clean these up and post, frankly. Oooops.

Elissa stared into the water of her bath, grimacing at how quickly it had turned brown with the dust and grime from the battle in one dungeon and escaping from a second. It had been months now since she had a proper bath, making do with quick and shockingly cold bathing in rivers or lakes or inefficient and ineffective wipe downs with damp cloths.

This water was warm, but it did little more than remind her of her current situation. With a sigh, she emerged from the water, groping blindly for the towel nearby to dry off as quickly as possible.

Rood’s insistent bumping against her hand did not make the process efficient, but he had been hesitant to leave her side after her disappearance for some time.

When they had arrived at Eamon’s estate, Anora was still there, waiting to speak with her. 

“You need me,” the queen had said, the final words in her argument for garnering their support in the Landsmeet. Elissa couldn’t say she was surprised. Why would Anora wish to give up her crown?

Nor could Elissa say the queen was wrong. She had the support of the people, experience, and she knew her father’s weaknesses far better than anyone currently in their party. 

And, on the advice of the queen, she was now preparing to investigate…some unknown terrible deeds taking place in the Alienage. 

Despite the bath, Elissa felt dirty. She was not built for playing politics. She learned what she could from her parents, but even her mother had largely frowned upon the games and schemes of court. And surely their fates should make it obvious how well either of them, mother or father, had done on that front.

Pawn of an ascendant and pawn of a queen. Pawn of an arl. Pawn of a nation. 

She finished dressing leisurely, reveling in the soft silk after the rough, borrowed armor of the guards of Drakon. Her gloves were the last to go on before looping her belt and daggers around her hips — no matter the situation, she felt more comfortable with the blades. She had agreed to speak with Anora separately but had known she’d be unable to do so until she felt herself, or at least as close as she could get in these days of turmoil and upheaval. 

Anora sat on the chaise longue in the rooms that had been appointed to her; Elissa stood in the doorway until the queen bid her enter.

“Please, come in. Take a seat if you like.”

Elissa remained standing.

“I wanted to first say that I was sorry to hear about your family. I always liked Eleanor, and it is fitting that Howe met justice at your hands.”

The memory of his final moments came to her mind. She didn’t believe that what had transpired in that dungeon was justice. It was revenge. But she also knew that justice would land better with the other nobles when they went to plead their case.

“Thank you, your majesty. You wished to speak with me?”

Anora, perhaps realizing that she would not be sitting, stood as well and approached, “I want to ask you to support me in the Landsmeet. I know that we spoke of an alliance already, but I believe your word will carry much weight, and if you were to back my claim, we can see to it that my father is stripped of his power.”

Elissa arched an eyebrow, “I don’t think my word will carry as much weight as you feel it will.”

The queen rolled her eyes, scoffed, “You are a Grey Warden, Shield Anvil of Fener, and we are in a Blight. Despite what my father says, he alone cannot save us from that.”

Elissa shrugged.

“And as I understand it, Alistair does not wish to wear the crown. I am the obvious choice.”

She wasn’t wrong. But this was Ferelden, and while Elissa believed strongly that Anora would do well as queen, she was lacking something important, “I have no problem with it, Anora. But you aren’t a Theirin.”

Anora raised her chin just slightly, obviously used to hearing this, “That is the only thing I lack.”

The answer sprang clear in Elissa’s mind, bright in its revelation and dark in its implications. She sighed, feeling all too weighed down by the words that she was about to utter, Wynne’s soft warning ringing loudly in her ears, “And it’s what Alistair has. The way forward is obvious.”

At least, she was pleased to note, Anora’s face twisted slightly, “Apart from the fact that he is my late husband’s half brother, I thought that…perhaps there was something between the two of you.”

So did I, Elissa thought, though all she said in response was, “Does that matter, in light of the needs of Ferelden?”

Anora fell silent for a time, then she too sighed, “Very well. If he is open to the idea, and if he is willing to serve as figurehead alone, I would be amenable.”

“Right. I’ll talk to him, then.”

* * *

It felt safest to stay in Eamon’s study, Alistair had decided. He was far less likely to have a run-in with Anora, who had clearly pieced together exactly what Eamon’s plans were and did not approve. It also was less likely he’d find himself on the receiving end of the questioning looks from Zevran or the others, who had noticed the strange sort of distance between he and Elissa before their return from Drakon. He had tried…well, a kiss alone couldn’t really undo the stupid words he had uttered, and they hadn’t had an opportunity to talk again at any length since their last unfortunate exchange.

And as a bonus, soon before they had returned, a warden from Orlais had arrived, explaining his encounter with Elissa in the dungeons of the Arl of Denerim’s estate. It was a relief to finally see another member of the Order, though it was obvious enough that the man was far more interested in speaking to the Shield Anvil. 

Thus he was standing by the bookshelf, perusing the options, when Elissa found him, changed out of her bloodied armor and scrubbed clean; she looked so much softer in the bright silk shirt and leggings that she wore as house clothes, without blood caked under her fingernails or dried on her neck and face. Despite the comfortable clothes, she looked rather uneasy. 

“Alistair,” she greeted, her eyes sweeping the room carefully, “I had hoped to find you here. I wanted to talk to you.”

This is my chance, he thought, to make things right, explain and apologize for my folly.

“Of course. Whatever you need, my dear.”

She offered him a strange, guarded sort of smile at that but did not immediately continue, so he sought to further break the ice, “I think someone must have told Anora about me. She has a very nasty glare.”

The look that he received in response was near impossible for him to parse. She looked terribly uncomfortable with the joke. It seemed to him that the temperature rose considerably in the room, especially as his eyes were drawn to Elissa’s hands wringing together awkwardly.

“Alistair…do you still not wish to be king?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t exasperated with her, not really. He was tired of the whole thing — the whole argument, the infighting, the war. 

“This wasn’t my idea. I think she’s a great queen. As far as I’m concerned, she’s welcome to the crown. What do you think? I should just go ahead and be king? Just let it happen? I like being a warden. There’s real evil out there, and we can help. I’m not a political man. Making laws, settling disputes…that’s not me.”

Elissa turned slightly, as if looking out the door, “Right. Well. What if you…were to marry Anora?”

He thought for sure that time itself stopped. Was he hearing her right? Was she suggesting - was Elissa suggesting that he marry Anora? Truly? 

“Marry Anora? As in…marriage? As in be her husband?”

Elissa shrugged vaguely, looking again at the door, and a dawning realization came to him. 

“Wait. You’ve spoken to her about this. You did, didn’t you?”

Something like pain flashed across her features.

“Did you take a blow to the head? That’s crazy.”

She dropped her hands but would not meet his eyes, her voice much smaller than he’d ever heard it, “Is it? The future of Ferelden, its people…that’s important.”

He had never come to regret words so deeply before, watching her face as she spoke. He took that most beloved face in his hands, turning it up, so he could look into her eyes.

“Elissa. I love you. You are the most important thing to me. Let Anora be queen. Let her have all that she wishes. All I wish for is you.”

She blinked rapidly, staring at him, mouth agape, and he might laugh, were it not for knowing how much he had so recently put her through.

After a long moment, she nodded, “Right. I, um, I shall tell Anora the news.”

* * *

Zevran frowned, walking into the alienage. This was not his first time to one such slum of a city, but it never became easier for him to visit these places. Filled with squalor and disease — like any slum in any city, but in Ferelden, relegated exclusively to Dalish, those of lingering Tiste blood.

The Tiste had been the first to inhabit this land, and yet their descendants, blood thinned through the ages, as their ancestors had coupled with humans, were left with the dregs. 

He wondered what crimes of Loghain they might find here. As he understood it, Anora herself had sent them on this quest, and he had many questions about that. Foremost in his mind: could she be trusted? The woman who had had their illustrious leader arrested only a few days prior? 

There could be a trap laid somewhere along the path, but as they marched through the mud and detritus of the alienage, he became more sure that indeed Loghain, or his agents, at the very least, were making some sort of terrible things happen here. Above and beyond the terrible conditions that the Dalish lived in, anyway.

The streets seemed remarkably empty, at least until they arrived in the main square of the neighborhood, in Ferelden an area always surrounding a great tree. The people of the alienage were gathered by a door, listening to a man speak, “We have healers here, but we only have so much room. It is for your safety that we do not let you inside.”

Before they reached the crowd, he tugged on the Shield Anvil’s arm, “Healers?”

Elissa shrugged, eyes scanning the crowd, no doubt looking for someone on the edges who they might question. 

He spotted the person first, a young man with dark red hair standing toward the back, “Allow me.”

He left the others behind, walking casually toward the crowd and stopping by the man who had stood out. He listened for a moment before turning, “I am sorry, but I am new here. What is going on?”

The young man gave him a puzzled, suspicious look, “You don’t know about the plague?”

“No. As I said, I am new. I just arrived recently.”

The young man glanced over his shoulder, spying Elissa and her group, “You travel with shem?”

Zevran shrugged, “I travel with whoever is available. This plague…should I be worried?”

“It’s a plague.”

Perhaps he had misjudged the man, he started to think, scanning the crowd, until a resigned sigh came from next to him, “There was a purge not too long ago. Many of our people were taken. And now this. We…we’re tired.”

Zevran indicated to the building with his chin, “And in there?”

“A makeshift hospital. Except we haven’t been allowed in to see our family members. They say they’re cured, and yet…”

At this, he looked over his shoulder at Elissa, nodding slightly toward the building. This wasn’t the first time he'd seen this; he knew a slaver’s den when he saw one, and he had little doubt. 

“I thank you, sir.”

* * *

Wynne largely abhorred violence. It was not in her nature to fight first; rather she sought to understand, to bridge the gaps between people. However she held nothing but contempt for slavers, vile men and women who sought always to subjugate, to control, to own. Which was why she had no qualms about breaking in, saying nothing when Elissa ushered them all through the door at the back of the apartment building now supposedly serving as a hospital.

The smell was the first thing she noticed — not a smell of illness but something stale, as if the doors and windows had been shut, the air left to stifle. 

Their small party moved room to room. Apartments, she thought, was far too gracious a term. The doors lining the hallways led only to small rooms, barely large enough to hold a couple for an evening, much less a family, and yet the signs of the people living there were scattered about.

Or rather signs of people who _had_ lived there.

They saw no one. All they found were empty rooms, rooms scattered with the remains of the lives that had called them home. In one they found a dirty, threadbare mattress. In another a broken vessel most likely used for carrying water or milk. In yet another they found a child’s doll.

Their careful silence grew increasingly grim, as all that they witnessed began to paint a clear image of what had happened here.

Wynne’s knuckles became sore, as her grip tightened around her staff. 

Room after room they entered was empty, on the first floor and through most of the second. Until at last they came to a locked door, the first they had encountered, and Elissa looked up with a sharp stare, meeting each of their gazes in turn.

For her part, Wynne nodded definitively when their eyes met. This would be put to rights; she would see to it.

The Shield Anvil kneeled slightly before the door, after ensuring the team was ready, and she twisted and worked the lock until there was a click, and the door swung open.

Everything erupted then.

Beyond the door were a small handful of individuals in armor; it was not Ferelden armor, that much Wynne could tell, but there was little time to do anything but duck out of the way. 

* * *

Alistair followed Elissa through the door, not surprised in the least when she seemed to shimmer and shift in his vision. He aimed for the left, ever ready to guard her with his shield, even as he closed with one of the armored guards.

He recognized the armor’s make as Tevinter, and things began to fall into place. This so-called hospital was nothing more than a front. It wasn’t clear from this small room, but he suspected there would be some hidden passageways of some kind, a door hidden underground that would allow them to take away the Dalish, kidnapping men, women, and children alike, to clap them in irons and sell them in the markets of Tevinter.

His stomach twisted painfully at the thought, rage overtaking him, and he swung his sword down with a bellow, savage revelry filling him at the sight of the guard’s arm falling away. 

He saw on the far side of the room, Elissa materialized out of the shadows, blade drawing cleanly across the neck of the one of the slavers, just as Zevran charged up the middle, spinning away from an attack and driving his sword and dagger into his would-be killer’s back. 

The battle ended quickly. Either the guards were not very well trained or, more likely, their party was desperate to see these men brought to justice. 

They did not bother to stop and question. It was clear enough what had been happening, and Elissa led them through the door on the opposite side of the room. As expected, they found hidden rooms and passages, some with more guards, some without. They followed these inexorably to their end; they found none of those that lived in the building, but they found a back door that led into an empty back alley. 

Only one other door was available to them, and they each shared a knowing look before marching purposefully toward it.

* * *

Unlike the slum house that they had just traversed, the interior of the building they entered from the hidden alleyway looked more like a tavern. The guards looked up in surprise, a woman in leather armor pushing past them and coming to the fore, “What is the meaning of this? We were told that there would be no interference from the authorities.”

Elissa thought that her blood might be pumping hard enough that her veins would be visible in her arms. Someone had made deals with these slavers. Someone in power. 

“I’m not with the authorities,” she hissed.

“Oh,” the woman sneered, “an errant group of do-gooders then. You will regret this, you know? Believe it or not, we’ve been given dispensation to do our work here.”

She flexed her fingers just slightly around her sword and dagger handles, quickly counting the number within. 

“You Fereldans talk a great deal about how very wrong slavery is, but isn’t it funny how quickly the smell of gold overcomes such ideals?”

Elissa had many questions, and though she was less interested in their answers than in seeing this woman hanging from a noose, she felt confident the cocky young lady was not the real power here, “I’m not so concerned about that.”

“Oh is that so? I’m curious what brought you here then.”

Elissa shrugged, “I’d be willing to explain it to whoever is in charge.”

The woman looked briefly over her shoulder, “You wish to parley? Very well. I will leave it to Caladrius to decide your fate. Come with me.”

Elissa gave the slightest indication to her company to follow, wondering if this would actually work. Her tongue was silver enough, but she could feel the displeasure of those behind her, and she had her own to contend with.

They followed the young woman through a series of doors into a large, rectangular room, wherein a handful of guards and an older man, most likely a mage, were standing. At the sound of their footsteps he turned, and it was clear that he recognized them almost immediately. 

“I hope there is a good explanation for this, Devera.” His voice was thick with derision, and the woman’s - Devera’s - response was a shudder.

“This woman and her companions arrived via the back door. She advised that she was not here to claim revenge.”

Caladrius cast his gaze upon them each in turn, ending on his lackey’s face, “And thus you thought it best to bring the Grey Warden directly to me?”

“I…what? Grey Warden?”

“We are in the presence of the royal bastard who would be king, as well. Have you no sense, my dear?”

Alistair, ever to her left, leaned over slightly, muttering, “Listen to that. A slaver calling me a bastard? I hope you know what you’re doing.”

For a moment, anyway, she was annoyed, but she had to admit he had a point. She would very much like to rip into this man, but it would better serve them to keep him alive, surely? 

“Well what’s done is done. Well met, Grey Warden. I am Caladrius, and I have heard a great deal about you and your friends.”

Elissa arched her eyebrows, “Am I to exchange pleasantries now?”

“Come now. We can be civil. I suspect that I could help you, after all. No doubt you now seek to undermine Loghain - a difficult prospect, that.”

“How do you believe you could help me with that?”

“Our time here was always going to come to an end,” he sighed, “We’ve paid for many of Loghain’s troops, it’s true, but once the Landsmeet is over, we shall become inconvenient. So my offer is thus: one hundred sovereign for a letter with the Teyrn of Gwaren’s seal upon it, implicating him in all of this. You must admit it’s better than resorting to barbarism, yes?”

Elissa scanned the room. There were shadows abound. And she had the Otataral blade with her to boot. 

“I have a counter offer,” she replied, leaning over the railing where they stood, arms crossed, as she looked down at them.

“Interesting.”

“You leave with nothing, but you keep your hides,” she smiled.

Did she imagine the bead of sweat rolling down his cheek?

“That’s not much of a deal now, is it? Let’s do this the hard way, then,” he sighed, turning to his guards, “Men? Shall we?”

* * *

It felt good to kill someone who truly had it coming to them, someone so vile and corrupt as to buy and trade with the bodies and lives of others. Zevran had no qualms about this work, enjoyed it even.

It was always a breathtaking sight, watching Elissa fight. And with that strange, rusty sort of blade. Caladrius’s eyes had practically bugged out of his head when he saw it, but he had little time to react. Whatever the material, clearly it set the mage on edge.

For his part, he kept his focus trained on the guards, some with sword and shield and others with bows or crossbows — admittedly a strange choice for an enclosed space. He kept to the right of Elissa, using his dagger to block a sword blow and ducking quickly underneath and around to stick his own sword through the man’s side, slipping the blade between gaps in the armor. Heavy armor, he noticed, more likely to slow down his opponents than save them.

He spun around, now behind one of the guards wielding a bow. He did little more than cut the string with his dagger, not wishing to lose momentum, as the third guard was sprinting toward Elissa.

As he had suspected, the armor gave him a slight edge on speed. While he was unable to catch up immediately, he certainly closed the distance faster, coming up behind the man, as he swung his sword around to catch Elissa from the side.

The Shield Anvil side-stepped, getting little more than nick on her arm, the sharpened steel biting through the leather, though it did not do any great damage.

Zevran leapt the final couple of feet, sword down low, aimed toward the guard’s kidney, dagger high. His sword slammed into the heavy metal armor, jarring his right arm, but his left wrapped around the man’s neck, tugging back and sliding the blade of his dagger across the guard’s exposed throat.

The guard dropped at his feet, and he smiled at Elissa’s nodded thanks, before he returned to the archer, who was now wielding her secondary weapon. This guard, too, he dispatched quickly, and a post-battle quiet filled his ears.

Wynne had wisely stayed back during the fray, now emerging from the room they had passed through and picking her way down the stairs to where Elissa stood over the body of Caladrius. 

“Search the room. I’ll check for the letter here,” she announced.

Zevran set himself to looking for where they might be keeping the people they had kidnapped, checking the guards for keys. He found a set of iron keys on a ring hanging from one of the guard's belts; they had the appearance of padlock keys, so he jingled them merrily on his way to rejoin the others in the center of the room.

Elissa held a now bloodstained letter in one hand, gazing down at the seal, “Hood take him,” she spat, “does his ambition truly extend so far?”

Alistair, face more pallid than usual, approached, “So it’s true? Do you think Anora was complicit?”

Zevran had his suspicions, but he often saw the worst in royalty.

Elissa shrugged, “It’s possible she knew before but was unable to stop it. Or perhaps she learned only recently. It’s clear to me that whatever power she holds, to her father’s eyes, it means little. She had been captured by Howe, after all.”

She turned to Zevran, “You found keys? Let’s find these poor souls and let them out.”

He grinned and started toward one of the back doors.


	34. The Landsmeet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Anora's support secured, Elissa and crew head to the Landsmeet to face the lesser of their foes.

What Elissa and the others had found in the Alienage was distressing, and Leliana was disgusted by it. She could not, however, deny that the letter they found, the implications of it all, would become a boon. 

It was absolutely necessary for Elissa to wrest control out of Loghain’s hands. Her ravens, little spies throughout Ferelden, had been reporting suspicious activity for weeks, most of which seemed to point to a secret pact with slavers. This confirmed it. And it was creating great instability in the lowest classes. Instability which would inevitably lead to desperation, which would feed into the growing chaos that bled into every warren in the area.

Elissa was, in fact, the only one that could see them out of this. 

Leliana was more certain than ever that the Shield Anvil was the vague hero that she had seen in her dreams. And she had made it her mission to see to it Elissa had the power she needed to stand against the rising tides that threatened Ferelden.

Thus she stood outside the woman’s room, knocking gently, “Elissa?”

There was a pause, but eventually the call to enter came, and she opened the door, slipping in quietly.

“Leliana - what can I do for you?”

Elissa sat in a chair at a desk, an opened letter in front of her, but she had turned to face the door. 

“How are you?”

She shrugged, “Just waiting for the Landsmeet, now. I want to get through the politics, so we can focus on the real threat.”

“Do not underestimate the threat posed by politics.”

A sigh.

“Speaking of…I came to propose something. Elissa, you are a Cousland, the daughter of a Teyrn, and now the sister of one. You wield as much power as Loghain in that regard, so I wonder…why not take the throne yourself?”

There was a beat of silence before Elissa began laughing - a reaction that Leliana had thought possible, to be fair. She waited out the woman, remaining silent, as her laughter died down slowly, first to a slight chuckle, and then finally to silence once more.

“Oh. You’re serious.”

“You alone perhaps could not take the throne, I realize. But you have the ear of Alistair, no? And is he not the heir to the seat of power?”

She could see the calculations running through Elissa’s head, as the woman stared back at her, dumbfounded.

“Alistair does not wish to be king.”

An interesting omission, Leliana thought, that she did not clarify her own wants, “He does not want to make the decisions, have that power entirely in his hands. But would he be willing to share that burden with you?”

Elissa sighed, eyes flicking to the paper before her, and Leliana would be lying if she said she was not burning with curiosity.

“You do not have to decide this moment, of course,” she tried to soothe, “but I encourage you to consider it. You are the one that will bring us victory against the Blight. You should be leading the nation, not just our small company.”

And with that, she gave a slight nod and left the Shield Anvil to think on her words.

* * *

_  
Dear Sister,_

_I have retaken our home. The march was perilous, and we were slow in arriving…much slower still in planning. Howe had what I believe is the bulk of his army inside the walls of the castle. I cannot write of what was outside, not in any great detail. What I can say is that…I am a broken man, after witnessing what they had done to our home. To the people. Our people._

_I have put our family to rest._

_We took the castle after weeks of planning. I sent runners out to our vassals, many of whom sent who they could, but as you know, many of our own people perished at Ostagar or were swept away with Loghain’s own forces. But I have something that Howe’s soldiers could never have - the intimate knowledge of every corner of our home._

_Our men fought valiantly, and once the plan was in motion, we retook the castle in a day._

_I have now begun issuing orders to ferret out any other conspirators. It seems that most of our people are pleased to have a Cousland back in the seat of power, though, so I suspect things will return to normal soon. As normal as they can be._

_Sister…my family. Our parents._

_I thank the Lady that you made it out alive, despite the oaths you have since made, despite knowing that I am alone in restoring our state. _

_I write now only because word has reached me that Arl Howe has been killed. _

_I know that you are the one who brought us this justice. I do not know the details, but in my heart I know it was you, and I am pleased._

_Too do I know that your work is not yet done. I beg you, sister, come back to me. Do not fall to this Blight. Do not leave me in this vast castle alone; I do not believe I can do this without you._

_If you can, send me word. _

_Your loving brother,_

_Fergus  
_

* * *

Elissa stared at the letter, Leliana’s words bouncing haphazardly through her mind. She had no desire to be queen, no more than Alistair had to be king, no doubt. 

And yet…

The idea of being in a position to protect her family’s legacy was appealing. 

Not to mention the chilling thought that Alistair had put in front of them - had Anora known of the slave trader agreement? Had she condoned it? If not, had she bothered to fight it?

She had argued that Anora would not have had the power to fight it, but then…what did that say about the woman? Everyone had said that she was the one to actually run the country, citing Cailan as a dreamer, a man with his head in the clouds who liked to play soldier. It was not the most flattering picture painted of a king -- not the least flattering, but she wondered how much truth was there.

If she were to do this…what would become of Anora?

She did not imagine the queen would take the change of heart very well. 

What was she thinking? The idea was madness. She did not want the crown.

Her jaw began to ache, and she realized she was clenching her teeth together, the letter from Fergus crumpled in her fist. 

She would have to trust that, when the time came, she would know what to do.

* * *

Alistair knew Leliana had been busy while he, Wynne, and Zevran had followed Elissa into the Alienage and dismantled an actual slaver’s ring in the middle of Denerim. As it turned out, there were other nobles with questions regarding Loghain and Howe, their dealings as of late. Some who had lost family at Ostagar, for instance. And many who knew about what had happened to the Couslands -- seemed that Fergus, Elissa’s brother, had made it back after all.

All filled him with optimism, as they approached the neutral third ground where the Landsmeet would actually take place. 

Until Cauthrien stepped out to bar their way from the larger interior room where the nobles waited, “Warden. I am not surprised it’s come to this. And Alistair. If you were even remotely worthy of being called King Maric’s son, you would already be in the Landsmeet.”

Well that seems unfair, he thought, frowning at the woman while stepping closer to the Shield Anvil. So far their encounters with Loghain’s second-in-command had been less than encouraging, and here she was waiting for them.

“You have torn Ferelden apart to oppose the very man who fought to ensure you were born into freedom,” she continued, and he began to see just how devoted the woman was to the madman who had betrayed them all. He wondered how much she had been kept in the dark.

“Do not think you will get past me to desecrate the Landsmeet. Nobles of Ferelden will confirm my lord as regent, and we can finally put this to rest, once you are gone.”

Alistair certainly didn’t like the sound of that, but he was at least heartened to see that the woman’s large sword was still strapped in its holster. 

For her part, Elissa just looked tired, “Can you really not see what he has become?”

Cauthrien looked physically struck for a beat, staring at Elissa, as if seeing her for the first time, “I…”

Elissa waited silently, motioning for the others to stay back and likewise remain silent. She was, as ever, patient, and they all watched the war of emotions playing over their would-be attacker’s face.

“I have had so many doubts of late,” she finally mumbled, half to herself, before speaking somewhat more clearly, “Loghain is a great man. It’s…his hatred of Orlais. It has driven him to madness. H-he has done terrible things. I know it. But I owe him everything. I cannot betray him. Do not ask me to.”

Their party stood in stunned silence for some time, all eyes slowly drifting to Elissa, once it was clear Cauthrien had said her piece.

The Shield Anvil stepped closer, hands up in supplication, “Then let me stop him. You know it’s the only way.”

Cauthrien studied Elissa first before her eyes dropped to the ground, “I never thought duty would taste so bitter.” She turned on her heel, stepping to the side, to allow them all the pass, “Stop him, Warden. Stop him from betraying everything he once loved.”

* * *

Sten supposed it made a kind of sense for him to be here. He had spent evenings with Elissa, discussing her approach to this war, the importance of toppling her mortal and most immediate foe before gathering all the strength Ferelden could muster to rise up against the Blight. He could feel the eyes of the nobles on him, and he straightened to his full height, knowing too that his presence by her side sent a clear message about her own strength.

He followed the others, Alistair and Leliana, in through the massive doors, the voice of Arl Eamon carrying over the crowd to greet them. 

“My Lords and Ladies of the Landsmeet — Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedom, our traditions, out of fear. He placed us on this path, yet we should place our destiny his hands? Must we scarifice everything good about our nation in order to save it?”

The murmurs at Elissa’s approach to the front of the crowd were rising. 

And they silenced, when Loghain himself appeared on the opposite end of the hall, clapping slowly, “A fine performance, Eamon,” he drawled, “but no one here is taken in by it.”

He stood now in the center of the chamber, looking up at Eamon after sneering at Elissa and the rest of their group, “You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne, and every soul here knows it. The better question is who would pull the strings?”

He stretched out his arms theatrically at Elissa, “And here we have the puppeteer! Tell us, Warden, how will the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince?”

Sten was mostly confused, as were some of those assembled, it seemed. The darkspawn were marching ever closer to Denerim, and here the man was rambling about Orlesians. 

“How much did they offer you? What is the price of Fereldan honour now?”

Troops began to file in, placing themselves between Loghain and their group. Cauthrien was not among them, of course, and Sten wondered if Loghain noticed her absence.

Elissa shook her head, “The Blight is the threat here. Not Orlais.”

From above, one of the assembled nobles called out, “There are enough refugees in my bannorn now to make that abundantly clear.”

Another picked up on the thread, “The South has fallen, Loghain. Will you let darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?”

“The Blight is indeed real, Wulff,” Loghain called, his face twisted in something like pain, “but do we need the Grey Wardens to fight it? They failed spectacularly at Ostagar, and they ask to now bring with them four legions of chevaliers. And once we’ve opened our borders to chevaliers, can we really expect them to simply return from whence they came?” 

Elissa scoffed, “Our mercenary company cannot bring in additional resources, and yet it’s acceptable to you to sell Fereldan citizens to fund your war?”

“What’s this?” Came an outraged voice from above, “There is no slavery in Ferelden! Explain yourself!”

Elissa held aloft the letter; though none would be able to see the details from where they sat, it would be made available as proof if needed.

Loghain dropped his chin to his chest, shook his head, “There is no saving the Alienage! Damage from the riots has yet to be repaired. There are bodies rotting in their homes. It is not a place I would send my worst enemy…there is not a chance of holding it, if the Blight comes here.”

Sten placed his hand on Elissa’s shoulder, seeing it twitch, as she prepared to move. It was not time, yet. She knew, but there was no harm in reminding her.

“Despite what you may think, Warden,” the general practically spat, “I have done my duty. Whatever my regrets may be for the Dalish, I have done what was needed for the good of Ferelden.”

If his ears did not deceive him, Loghain was beginning to crack. Difficult to justify a practice outlawed in one’s own land. 

Elissa threw up her hands, “Then you would be supporting Maric’s son!”

“Indeed,” a noble above them shouted, “Do we not owe it to Maric to see his son on the throne?”

Alistair shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking to Elissa. 

Loghain scoffed, “If he was a true son of Maric, I would swear fealty to him. But I see nothing of Maric in this pup. But enough of this,” he threw up his own hands, stepping closer, the merest hint of a smile on his features, “Warden, what have you done with my daughter?”

Elissa crossed her arms, “What have I done? I’ve protected her from you. From your pawns.”

Loghain’s eyes flashed, “You took my daughter — our queen — by force, killing her guards in the process!”

Sten watched the metaphoric ground topple from beneath the man. He had put all of his efforts into this one piece, and Elissa, with Eamon and Leliana’s help, had already destabilized these rumors. 

“What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?”

It was clear the man saw victory on the horizon, but his face crumpled along with his chances, as Anora appeared in the door, “I believe I can speak for myself.”

* * *

Gasps and murmurs erupted in earnest, as the queen marched regally through the crowd to where they all stood in the center.

Leliana nodded imperceptibly - her timing had been impeccable. 

“Lords and Ladies of Ferelden, hear me,” her voice rang out clearly in the chamber, “My father is no longer the man you know. _This man_ is not the hero of the River Dane.”

Her face crumpled for a moment, and if Leliana did not know better, she would believe that the queen was putting on a show.

“This man turned his troops aside and refused to protect your king, who fought bravely against the darkspawn. This man seized Cailan’s throne before his body was cold and locked me away, so I could not reveal his treachery. I would have already been killed,” she shook her head, stepping to Elissa, “if not for the Grey Warden.”

Without breaking the queen’s gaze, Elissa bowed her head, “The queen speaks the truth.”

Loghain sighed, “So the wardens’ influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora? I wanted to protect you from this.”

He shook his head before turning back to the crowd, his voice now bellowing, “My lords and ladies, our land has been threatened before! It has been invaded, and lost, and won times beyond counting!”

Leliana shook her head slightly. He was clearly not meant for politics. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the schemer had been Howe, and without his weaseling, Loghain would resort to rousing speeches.

“We Fereldans have proven that we will never truly be conquered so long as we are united. We must not let ourselves be divided now. Stand with me, and we shall defeat even the Blight itself!”

The general had raised his fists in the air, his voice coming to a thunderous crescendo. 

There was a drawn out silence following his bellowed speech before a voice rang out above them - not Eamon, but another one of the nobles, shouting “Warden!”

A second voice joined, “The warden!”

A third - “I support the warden!”

A chorus of voices, then, each one throwing in their support with Elissa, as Loghain’s face became more and more furious until, finally, it became resigned. He shook his head, staring at last at his daughter, Anora, the queen, who stood tall and proud, her chin held high in victory.

Leliana found it not a little amusing that the queen saw this as her victory, even as the lords and ladies of the Landsmeet shouted their support, not for Anora, but for the woman in dark leather armor standing nearby.

“The Landsmeet has spoken against you, Loghain,” Elissa spoke softly, voice loud enough for the general to hear but not so loud her words carried, “Step down gracefully.”

Loghain’s face again twisted with rage, his hands coming to fists, “Traitors! Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?!”

He turned, pointing an angry finger at Arl Eamon, “You fought with us once, Eamon! You cared about this land once -- before you got too old and fat and content to even see what you risk.”

He began to spin, pointing at each of the nobles in turn, “None of you deserve a say in what happens here. None of you have spilled blood for this land the way I have! How dare you judge me?!”

Loghain once again stood facing Elissa, hate and anger and pain writ plain as day, and Elissa, hands at her sides, merely stood and met his gaze, “I understand, and I embrace you.”

It was her role, her duty as Shield Anvil.

But Loghain was not ready for what she offered, and with a snarl of rage, he lunged. Elissa was fast; Leliana had seen her in battle many times, knew how masterful her use of the Meanas warren was, and in a flash, she was gone, as ephemeral as the flickering light of a candle. 

If her offer to embrace his pain and forgive him had angered him, her disappearing act sent him completely off the deep end, and with a bellow, he unsheathed his sword, ready to swing it wildly in the area where Elissa had just been standing.

Alistair’s sword came up to meet it, the sound of the blades' clash ringing through the hall. He stared across the hilt at Loghain, his own visage calm, even serene. 

* * *

They were so close, Alistair kept thinking, his hands cramping with the strength of Loghain’s blow. He was not about to let this man ruin their chances of saving all of Ferelden from a Blight.

Elissa had given him a way out.

And he instead was choosing this.

Alistair stepped back, adjusting his grip, and brought his sword back around. Loghain barely brought his own back up in time to block, and their back-and-forth began in earnest. 

He had never considered himself a real swordsman; he knew enough to survive a battle, but he had also been trained by some of the best fighters on the continent, and for all of his experience, Loghain was the son of a farmer.

He also had many years on Alistair, and it wasn’t long before the general was fatigued, his steps stumbling, his blocks less smooth.

Elissa re-emerged from the shadows, her own blades still sheathed. 

Alistair was surprised to find that he was not himself filled with rage. He felt at ease; this was something that he was made for, he thought. He was defending Ferelden. He was defending Elissa. 

His blade scraped across the heavy plate covering Loghain’s chest, and the man dropped his own sword by his side, breaths coming sharp and shallow, “I cede. I cede.”

He looked to where Elissa stood to his right, “A man is made by the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that. I don’t know if that is a compliment to you or to me.”

“I have never wished to be your enemy,” she shrugged.

Eamon approached, having descended from the upper level of the room, “He cedes! Then it is decided -- Alistair, Maric’s heir, shall take the throne!”

The thrill of his victory vanished, and he gaped at Eamon, “What? When was that agreed upon?”

Anora, too, seemed displeased, stepping forward, past her father, “Excuse me? That was not what we said—”

The crowd erupted once more in a cacophony, and it was only then he realized how quiet it had gotten, while he and Loghain fought. Anora and Eamon were shouting at one another, Eamon repeating that he should be king, and Anora reminding him firmly that she yet ruled.

Finally Eamon broke off, “Warden! You are an impartial third party. What say you?”

All eyes, including Alistair’s own, turned to Elissa.

* * *

This was not how she thought this day would go. 

For a few heartbeats, Elissa imagined her life without Howe’s betrayal. She thought about being home, sitting with mother and waiting for word from the front. Admittedly, her father and brother likely would have died at Ostagar; she was never going to be free from loss in this war. Nor would she be here. Or if she were, she would be on one of the balconies, with her mother.

Fanciful dreams only.

She was here, on the ground with the other soldiers, and yet being asked to lead this decision.

She looked from Anora, not much older than herself, really, standing tall and proud, hands clasped before her, to Alistair, sword once again sheathed, armor of their order donned, despite its wear and lack of luster. She studied Eamon, who looked at her expectantly, as if he knew her mind.

Her gaze swept out over the crowd, up to the balconies where stood the lords and ladies of Ferelden.

It fell to the form of Loghain, slumped to his knees and staring at the ground.

And she thought that if she closed her eyes, perhaps she could see even further. See the filth of the streets of the Alienage. See the walls rising around Denerim, the fields beyond. She could see Lake Calenhad, the docks of Redcliff, the forests leading to Haven and the deep green of the Brecilian woods. She saw the collapsed bridge and devastation left at Lothering. She could see the small hut where Morrigan’s mother lived.

And over it all, a heavy, warm sickness was creeping, threatening to engulf them all, person on the throne be damned.

She took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Anora is queen. She has led Ferelden this far. She has my trust. And Alistair and I have other matters to attend to.”

There was silence for a few breaths before the crowd of nobles began to shout and clap. Anora granted her a warm smile; Eamon looked less than pleased but not quite angry. And Alistair’s relief was palpable.

The details would be worked out; her priority was once again moving forward and focusing on what needed to be done. The Blight was coming, and she had to stop it.


	35. Inhale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After victory at the Landsmeet, Elissa's party looks to internal matters, all of them feeling the increasing weight of the coming battle.

The hazy, bright red of sunlight streaming through closed eyelids was the first thing that came to mind the morning after the Landsmeet, Alistair turning his face away from the light and nearly jumping out of his skin when he felt something beside him move. The surprised grunt that followed was both more shocking and somehow comforting, and he finally risked opening his eyes, to see Elissa curled in the sheets next to him and pushing blindly at his arm, which had brushed against her.

The night’s events sharpened in his memory, as the fog of sleep faded — they had finished the Landsmeet, had secured Loghain away in a dungeon to await tribunal, and they had returned to Eamon’s estate, where Zevran led them all through some hours of revelry. And those hours had ended here, in his bed, with Elissa astride him, celebrating this small victory in their own way.

The elation was somewhat diminished now, as with the light of the sun came the reminder of the long road yet ahead of them.

He took a slow breath and granted himself a few moments to study Elissa, as she slept. He couldn’t help but smile, the idea that this woman had chosen to care about him filling him with a sort of giddy glee. And she had freed him, stripped the burden of his lineage away, so he could choose the life he wanted. No matter what happened, where this Blight took them, he had something now that he had never dared dream of before.

And, he thought, if I could find this…

Elissa stirred beside him, blinking against the same light that had woken him, “Blast it - who leaves windows open for the sun?”

He could not help but laugh, and her answering grin made it clear that she was no more angry than he had been.

It was altogether a remarkably serene moment, despite the darkness creeping in around them.

“So,” she drawled, rolling onto her back to better face him, “whatever shall we do with ourselves today? Go defeat a blight?”

Admittedly he struggled not to stare at her breasts, now uncovered by the sheet with her movement, but he managed a vague shrug, “Only seems right. Though…”

He stared at her. Elissa, the order, they were his family. But he couldn’t shake the need to go and see someone who was an actual flesh and blood relative. His silence, perhaps his worry, drew Elissa up in the bed, so she was sitting, sheets pulled up once more to provide some modesty. She met his eyes, concern wrinkling her brow.

“I wonder if we could go somewhere today?”

“Alistair, what is it?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her, of course. He just didn’t want to have too high expectations. He sighed.

“I found my sister. My mother, she had another child, Goldanna. And she lives here, in Denerim. I want to go see her. If you think we have time.”

* * *

Relief came first. Elissa had rarely seen Alistair so worried, but she supposed it made sense. It could not be easy, learning you have unknown siblings, much less seeking them out. She well knew Fergus, but she believed she would still be rather nervous to see him now. It was already strange the last time, when she was newly appointed Shield Anvil — now she had spoken at a Landsmeet, helped to decide the fate of the nation.

He should have been there, she thought, but it would all be set to rights soon. She had spoken to Anora about what had happened since Howe’s betrayal, and she felt confident that her family would be rightly restored.

Alistair was waiting.

“Of course we can. Why would I ever say no? What do you know about her?”

As he went on to explain what he had learned, and how, she washed and dressed. She was happy to see to this reunion, but they had many things yet to do, and the sooner they sought out his sister, the better.

Alistair followed suit, though with an obvious hesitancy in his motions. 

“It will be fine, Alistair.”

“Of course. Of course it will. A sister. I have a sister. It’s a perfectly normal thing that I share with many other people. Your brother, for instance. He has a sister, too.”

She looked over her shoulder at him from the dressing table, where she was strapping on her greaves.

“What if she doesn’t like me?” He asked in a small voice, donning his own armor.

“Then I shall land the blow myself.”

She was rewarded with a chuckle, then turned, “Would you like for us to bring anyone else along?”

Alistair was silent for a long beat before answering, “No. I think I’d rather do this…with you or alone.”

“Very well. Let’s go find this Goldanna.”

* * *

It was easy enough to follow the directions he had received from the investigator, but standing outside the door did not relieve the growing pressure in Alistair’s chest. He looked to Elissa repeatedly, as they stood across the way, staring at the building.

“Is this something you want to do on your own, Alistair?”

He clenched his fists, “I seem nervous, do I? I think…let’s go. Let’s just go.”

Elissa’s hand wrapped around his wrist, “Alistair. If you truly wish to move on, we can do so. But this is your chance. We cannot say what happens in the coming weeks. Take a breath. Consider. And if you need me there, I’m there.”

He followed her instructions, inhaling unsteadily. The worst that could happen, he reminded himself, was that she would not be there, or perhaps not be who he thought. Perhaps indeed his intel was simply wrong.

He nodded definitively and, without allowing himself another moment to reconsider, he strode across the road toward her house. He stopped at the door and looked back at Elissa. She smiled and followed after.

He knocked.

“Open!” Came a muffled voice from within.

He couldn’t pick out any details from this side of the wood, which only served to deepen his nervousness. He saw a hand reach out to push the door open, and it took him a second to realize it was not his own.

Elissa held the door open, and he passed her into the home. It was a humble place, a large room with sacks piled inside a wooden construct that served as a sort of divider. On the far side of the room was a basin, and a woman. From here, he could only see that she had red hair and was dressed plainly.

“Er…hello?”

The woman turned and walked toward them, “You have linens to wash? I charge three bits to a bundle, and you won’t find better. Don’t trust what that Natalia woman says, either; she’s foreign, and she’ll rob you blind.”

He was stunned to silence at first, seeing this woman, his sister, for the first time. Red hair, cut at her shoulders. She had fine features, sharp cheek bones, almost Tiste in nature. She was slim but muscular, arms and hands both red, skin dry.

As his non-answer stretched into awkwardness, he finally cleared his throat, “I’m…not here to get wash done. Uh. My name is Alistair. I’m…well, this might sound sort of strange. Are you Goldanna? If so, it seems that I’m your brother.”

Once his mouth started moving, it didn’t stop, words falling out in what felt much like an avalanche to him.

She took a step back, “My…what? I am Goldanna, yes. How do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?”

She backed up once more.

Panic filled him. His sister didn’t believe him. She was going to send them away, and he’d have no more answers than when he had been standing outside. No more family, either.

Elissa’s hand touched his arm briefly, “It’s true. Please, madame, just hear him out.”

He nodded insistently as Elissa spoke, reaching out and then pulling his hand back, “Our mother. She was a servant at Redcliffe Castle. A long time ago. Did you know? She-”

Her face twisted with rage, and she closed the distance she had created, her own hand coming up, but in this case to point at him accusingly, “You! I knew it. They told me the babe was dead, along with mother, but I knew they was lying!”

What?

“They told you I was dead? Who? Who told you that?”

A cold, slimy feeling started to crawl through his chest. He didn’t like where this was headed. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear any of this. 

She sneered, “Thems at the castle! I told them the babe was the king’s, and they said he was dead.”

Alistair felt the blood draining from him.

“They gave me a coin to keep my mouth shut and sent me on my way — I knew it!”

He cleared his throat, hoping to loosen it, “I…I’m sorry to hear that. The babe didn’t die. I’m…him. I’m your brother.”

She scoffed, threw up her hand dismissively, “For all the good it does me. You killed mother. And that coin didn’t last long. When I went back, they ran me off!”

Her voice rose, but still it felt cold as ice, chilling the blood in his veins. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t meant…he never even knew their mother. He had hoped to learn about her. He had hoped…

Elissa cleared her throat and turned to speak quietly, her voice breaking through the roaring in his ears, “Alistair, maybe we should go.”

Goldanna walked closer to them, her face filled with disgust as she studied Elissa, “And who in Hood’s name are you, eh? Some tart, following after his riches, I expect?”

He had been staring at the floor, but at her words, he looked up at this woman. This stranger. How dare she?

Elissa just laughed at her words, “I think you’re confused about a few things, Goldanna.”

“Don’t speak to her that way,” he snapped, taking a step to put himself between the two, “She’s in the Order of the Grey, like myself. She’s the Shield Anvil of Fener.”

“Ohhh,” Goldanna drawled, spitting on the ground before him, “a prince and a warden, too? Who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me?”

He wanted to snap this woman’s neck. She had no idea — no idea the life he had led. Prince? Prince?! And after he had just given up any and all claims to the throne. But she wasn’t done.

“I don’t know you, _boy_. Your royal father _forced_ himself on my mother and took her away from me. What do I have to show for it? Nothing. They tricked me good. I should have told everyone!”

He didn’t want to hear these things. Perhaps it had occurred to him, once, what his mother’s status, his father’s status…the implications of that. He felt suddenly sick to his stomach.

She stepped up, pointing a cracked, red finger directly into his face, “I’ve got five mouths to feed. And unless you can help with that, I’ve got less than no use for you.”

He opened his mouth, closed it. Stared at her finger.

Until Elissa pushed her away, “Gold’s all you care about? Have mine, and Hood take you.”

She pushed him further away from Goldanna, toward the door, and threw her own sack of gold of the floor. Glittering coins spilled out from the leather pouch, scattering over the earthen ground, as Elissa stared down the other woman. The sound of the money clinking merrily on the floor broke his sister’s concentration, and she stared down greedily at it.

Saying nothing further, Elissa turned, pointing at the door. He followed her silent instructions, and he only realized he’d been holding his breath when the fresh air hit him, and his gasped an inhale, bending over his knees and squeezing his eyes shut. 

* * *

Elissa considered burning down that wretch’s house. Just for a moment. It was barely a thought, even, she told herself, though it came bubbling back to the surface at the sight of Alistair in the street beyond the door. 

She wasn’t sure what to do; should she reach out? Or would that only serve to embarrass him further?

“Well, that was,” he sighed, “not what I expected.”

She frowned, reached out to grasp his arm, “Alistair. I’m so sorry that this happened. You…you deserve…well, she didn’t have to be like that.”

He stared at the ground for a long time before looking down at her hand, “Thank you. I, um. Can we just…go?”

She swallowed her rage at Goldanna and focused her compassion, instead. She nodded, tightened her grip, and led Alistair down the street. Following this alley led them to one of the main avenues, skirting a temple and heading toward the market.

“-direct from Orzammar!” came the bellowing cry of one of the merchants in the main square, as they passed by.

“Alistair. You know…”

He sighed, “I knew better. I should have — or, I shouldn’t have — thought…I mean, I should have known…”

She squeezed his arm more tightly. What could she say to him, really? There was nothing she could do to solve this problem, to mend that broken fence; perhaps, if things were different, but even she was starting to feel the strange, pressing feeling coming to Denerim. The darkspawn were close, bringing with them the twisted magic of Omtose Phellack, only this time there was no Jaghut tyrant. There was an Eleint. 

“Thank you for coming along with me. I think I might…need some time to myself.”

She knew not to take it personally. She would want some space, too. “Of course. Let’s head back to Eamon’s, and you can go get some rest.”

He said nothing further, just fell into step with her. It was a short walk, down the dirt street, through the market, and across to the gates of the estate. When they stepped inside, it looked like Alistair might say something more, but his mouth closed without further word; he instead gave a short, awkward bow, and hurried to his room.

Elissa sighed. It wasn’t an ideal way to leave things before a battle, she knew.

She thought about going up to her own room, but she didn’t make it, Leliana blocking her path, face placid, even as she whispered, “I found Marjolaine.”

* * *

“Marjolaine? _The_ Marjolaine? Of hired assassins on the road fame?”

Leliana pressed her lips together and pushed Elissa into one of the side rooms, “Please. There are ears everywhere.”

Elissa’s mouth shut immediately, her eyes skirting around the room in question.

“We are close to the end. I intend to go tonight; I would see this done before…whatever comes next.”

She had known when the attack first occurred that Elissa would help her, if she were able. And she was rewarded for her trust; she could see in the woman’s eyes that she intended to lend aid, and warmth bloomed in her chest. She did not know if she herself was deserving of this level of trust, but she would do all in her power to repay the debts.

“We shall meet in the market. If he is willing, I would appreciate Sten’s presence, as well.” She paused, then smiled. “And Rood.”

She did not wait for the Shield Anvil’s reaction; she only gave a nod before turning and walking calmly, leisurely to the exit. She wanted to trust Eamon, at least, but walls in Denerim had ears and eyes, she knew. 

The market gave her some cloak of anonymity. Blending in was something she could do; though she had admittedly learned many of those skills from Marjolaine, she was also better at it. It was loud here, with merchants bellowing to be heard over competitors. It was crowded, the morning offering cooler temperatures before the heat of the day would drive many into the shade of their homes. 

She had a minimal wait, less than half an hour before she saw her companions making their way through the crowd.

Leliana inclined her chin to indicate they should follow, and without explaining where they were headed, she led them down the alleys and back streets to the safe house where Marjolaine and her own spies were holed up.

Sten gave her a questioning look - it was, after all, the middle of the day.

She only smiled and produced a key, which she promptly used to open the door.

* * *

Sten had first wondered why Leliana would ask for him to join her on her quest for revenge. She was a capable mage, and Elissa was formidable with her blades, not to mention the Mabari at her side, almost large enough to be the Hound of Shadow for which he had been named. But skill counted for less against greater numbers, and magic of a wild nature was far less helpful in enclosed spaces.

As it was, when they entered this obvious hideout, Elissa and Sten were the only two able to do much of anything, and it was clear that Elissa alone would have struggled.

With the two of them, it was a much shorter fight, and the lackeys of this Marjolaine person were strewn across the floor, unconscious or actively dying. 

Even moving within shadows and working with a woman trained in the Dance, they were not silent in their endeavors. The woman waiting on the opposite side of the door they now approached surely had heard the fight. All she needed was a window on the other side, and she could have escaped. 

He was almost annoyed when the door opened, and their quarry had not fled. But the flash of anger in her eyes and Leliana’s smug expression, as she held aloft a paper doll, quickly transformed his ire to amusement.

To the other woman’s credit, she tried to keep a brave face, “Leliana, you found me, my dear.”

“By your design, no doubt.”

He took his cues from Elissa, and Elissa held back. This had the flavor of something exceptionally personal. And political. Neither of which he wished to involve himself in. 

This woman, dark hair, dressed in finery, continued on as if unaware of the hostile air, “Oh, you must excuse the shabby accommodations. I try to be a good host, but you see what I have to work with.”

Elissa arched an eyebrow.

“This country smells like wet dog. Everywhere. I cannot get the smell out. Even now it is in my hair, my clothes. Ugh.”

Rood growled.

Elissa crossed her arms, “That why you sent assassins after Leliana?”

The woman’s distaste danced over her features, “So business like, your companion,” she complained, not addressing Elissa directly.

Leliana, a woman often mysterious and compelling in her trickery, only spat, “You framed me. You had me caught and tortured. I came to Ferelden to be free. Why do you want me dead?”

The woman feigned shock, “Dead? No, my dear. I know you. Four, five men you could dispatch easily. That is not enough to kill you.”

“I’m still not hearing what it is that you want from Leliana?”

At this, finally, Marjolaine turned to the Shield Anvil, “She knows too much. You see her as a friend, no? Someone soft and warm? Lies.”

Elissa cast a sardonic look to Leliana, “Soft and warm? Leliana?”

Even Sten could not help a small chuckle at that. The mage was anything but. Perhaps not as abrasive as Morrigan, but she was not someone he could imagine holding her friends to her bosom.

Leliana returned the half smile Elissa gave her, “Marjolaine. Leave.”

“I cannot let you live, knowing what you know.”

Elissa sighed, looking more bored than concerned, “Come on. Are you kidding me? We came from Ostagar. We have been a step ahead of the Blight, a step ahead of the chained one, and you wish to challenge us?”

In answer, the woman drew her blades, and Elissa, with a groan of annoyance, shrugged, “Leliana?”

“She has signed her own fate.”

* * *

It was late now, as Elissa and Sten returned to the Arl’s estate. Leliana had stayed behind; it seemed that her lot today was to leave people to their own thoughts to work out whatever demons they had faced. She supposed being so close to a pivotal moment in history had that affect on people — they wanted to clear the air.

She eyed her companion, the tall and quiet man who she had sprung from a jail in a city about to be destroyed, “Sten?”

He only hummed at her in response.

“What brought you here, anyway?”

He arched an eyebrow and smiled at her. She hadn’t asked. She had specifically, actively tried not to pry into his personal life. But with all of the catharsis spreading through her group of friends, she couldn’t combat her curiosity now. 

He cleared his throat, “I was sent here to find something.”

She turned to study his face. Despite its placid nature, she had become far more adept at reading its subtleties since meeting him. She knew that many found him to be stoic, serious, and those were not untrue thoughts, but just now, she read amusement in the glint of his eyes. He was teasing and testing in equal measure.

“What would the Tiste Edur possibly need from Ferelden. Unless…”

She trailed off, as the possibilities came to her. Chaos has rent open a gate to Omtose Phellack; it was the only way for there to be a Blight without a Jaghut at its fore, at least that’s what more knowledgeable people had explained to her.

And if it had caused such a gate to the old warren…

“But I thought it was lost?”

Sten’s large hand clapped her shoulder, “And what do we do when things are lost?”

His tone was the same, but he said the words slowly and deliberately, and his lips tugged just slightly up.

She laughed and swatted at his hand, “Do not mock me, sir. I am Elissa Cousland. I am Shield Anvil of Fener.”

“And isn’t he blessed for that?”

Guilt rose up her chest, replacing the amusement, “Oh, Sten. But…have you even had the time to do that? I’ve just helped Alistair and Leliana today. I don’t know if I can—”

“Think of how much of this land we have traversed together in your own work. Our hold is old, and I can feel its gate. We could feel it from Par Vollen. Do not think that my aiding you has disrupted my cause.”

She nodded distractedly. In truth, she wasn’t sure which was worse. How little her own struggles must seem to someone immortal or the fact that she had failed to help someone who had helped her so much.

“I forget sometimes how young you are,” he muttered.

For just a second, it stung to hear him say it. But it passed quickly, and she grinned at him, “Memory getting a bit spotty in your old age?”

At his faux bored expression, she laughed, “Alright, fine. So where is this gate anyway? Think I could find it?”

He scoffed, “Absolutely not. You wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“That’s fair.”

They continued their conversation, as it left the realm of specifics and delved into philosophy once again, long into the evening.

* * *

The speed with which things had happened since arriving in Denerim left little time for the loose ends that had started to appear. 

Riordan, their fellow Order member, was one of them. They had met in the bowels of the Arl of Denerim’s estate, and she had been in constant movement since then. There was barely time now, but the Destriant had sent him, and she knew that they must speak before it was too late.

The man had been granted room in Eamon’s estate, as Elissa had expected, or at least hoped. He was easy to find, and when she arrived at the door to his small chambers, he was not surprised.

“Sheild Anvil,” he spoke with deference, bowing.

She was used to this from growing up the daughter of a Teyrn, but the habits of her nobility had quickly waned with the changes in her life, “Riordan. I apologize for keeping you waiting so long.”

“You have much to do. I took no offense.”

She nodded at that.

“You had said the Destriant sent you. Do you think by now she knows about Duncan?”

“By now, absolutely. He died while I was in transit, and I suspect she knew before I did. The timing of this is…not ideal.”

Elissa frowned. ‘Not ideal.’ Not ideal was arriving to a battle only to find mud instead of hard earth. Not ideal was having to march soldiers uphill the day prior to an engagement. Many things in war — in life — were not ideal, but the loss of their Mortal Sword and every other man and woman in the Order was much more than not ideal.

Whatever emotions showed on her face, Riordan immediately apologized, “I do not mean to offend. And I cannot imagine what happened in the battle at Ostagar. To the Order or to you, as Shield Anvil. I only mean to say that we have no embodiment of Fener’s will now, and that strength would be useful against an Eleint.”

She kept her mouth shut for a moment longer, calming herself before speaking carefully, “We have that bit covered. I don’t mean to say it will be easy, but we have a weapon on hand.”

She did not wish to share more. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Riordan. But this was Denerim, and she had only hours ago helped a friend to slay an Orlesian spy. The Chained One had corrupted a child in Redcliffe, and who was to say that he didn’t have influence here? No, best to keep that part secret.

Riordan studied her for a moment, and then bowed his head. 

“Will you join us in the battle?”

“I do not see how I could avoid it. Even should I want to return to Orlais and make my report to Clarel, the roads now would be overrun, I have no doubt.”

That wasn’t an _ideal_ answer.

“And as I said, that would be should I wish to return, which I do not. I am a warden, a senior member of the Order of the Grey. Battle is my calling. If you would have me, I would be attached to your personal company, Shield Anvil.”

That sounded more like a warden.

“We would be honored to have you, Riordan. And should you fall in battle, know that I will embrace you.”

She didn’t think she imagined the shine that came to his eyes at that. As she experienced at Ostagar, many of their soldiers had been waiting for her appointment, for someone to carry this mantel, to accept their grief at the end.

She extended her hand, and he reciprocated. They grasped one another’s forearms, shook once, and then dropped their hands to their sides.

“If we’ve time,” she said, turning toward the door, “you should sup with Alistair and I. We are the last two, and he was with them far longer. He has comforted me with tales of their exploits.”

“I would like that. Thank you, Shield Anvil.”

**Author's Note:**

> References, in alphabetical order:
> 
> Destriant: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Destriant
> 
> Fener: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Fener
> 
> Meanas: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Meanas
> 
> Mortal Sword: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Mortal_Sword
> 
> (The) Reve: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Fener%27s_Reve
> 
> (The) Warrens: https://malazan.fandom.com/wiki/Warrens


End file.
